Lion and The Lamb
by lexwang
Summary: Lucifer rises and introduces his son to the world. Please Review and let me know what you liked and what you didn't, ok? I LOVE REVIEWS! Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

Comments are EXTREMELY appreciated and make me very happy!!! Please hit the little button at the bottom and let me know what you think, k?

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Age to age he stands  
And time is in His Hands  
Beginning and the End,  
Beginning and the End

The Godhead, Three in one  
Father, Spirit, Son  
The Lion and the Lamb,  
The Lion and the Lamb

-Chris Tomlin

*

Thick smoke spews out of the pit into the dark.

The stink of brimstone fills the night, causing lungs to scream for air and parched throats to thirst for water. Fire burns everything in its path.

"The last seal has been broken! All hail Lucifer, Lord of Darkness, Prince of Evil!"

The chanting swells as the crowd gathers, rioting in the streets, some on their knees in reverence, others screaming and clawing themselves in abandon, still others watch in silent awe at the wondrous sight before them.

They swarm, running, stumbling, falling, towards the majestic figure rising up out of the smoke, wanting to touch the Unholy One, the Omega, the Alpha, the End of Days, the Beginning of Nights,

Once tainted and cast out, Satan has risen, to be worshipped, adored. In the form of man, he has risen to be praised, to take his rightful place in the universe.

One hand lifts and there is silence – the crowd falling down on knees and bellies, crawling towards their Lord, heads bent in adulation. All eyes look down because to have the Lord look upon a face, meet a gaze, is to be engulfed in a swift fiery death.

His large wings flutter in the night, his sapphire eyes cold and lifeless, dripping fangs shine yellow in the glow of the fire that surrounds him. His hand sweeps back, pointed claws hanging from long knuckled fingers on spidery limbs, bony ridges prominent on his forehead and spine.

"BEHOLD" Satan's voice is old, the memories of a thousand nightmares creaking in its timbre, and dead because life belongs only to the light, "MY SON! I give him to you, birth of an unholy womb. Mother Mary and Father John! "

A wing snaps back to reveal a man. He stands alone, imposing in height, hands on hips, eyes narrowed, head held high as he stares unflinching, challenging the crowd, daring anyone to question his power, his magnificence.

Again, His Father's voice booms out, "It was prophesied! My Blood! My Son! Follow Him as you would Me! Obey Him! He is the Lion, the Word! We are One!"

The crowd raises hands to the sky, chanting, "Follow the Son! Follow the Lion!"

Satan smiles, well pleased. He puts a hand on his Son's shoulder, watching as his green eyes turn black and an evil smile slashes across his handsome face.

Dean Winchester is no more. The AntiChrist has Become.

*


	2. Chapter 2

*

Dean doesn't get out of bed that morning knowing he'll be evil by nightfall.

Instead, he wakes up with a hankering for drippy eggs and sausage, with coffee, lots and lots of strong, sweet coffee.

He stretches and yawns on his way to the john, hunger making him hurry. Business done, teeth brushed and dressed, he brings over a cup of cold water to his brother's bed and, with a sweet smile, drips one icy drop after another onto Sam's forehead, causing him to twitch in his sleep until he bolts upright, wiping off his face and giving Dean a sour look with a "Jerk!" thrown in for good measure.

Dean chuckles at that and turns away, his voice trailing behind him "Rise and shine, Sammy! I'm hungry!"

"Yeah, you're always freaking hungry, dude!" Sam grumbles, gathering up clothes and going quickly towards the bathroom.

"What's the matter, Sammy? Did I almost make you piss the bed or something?"

His brother throws out a few choice words over his shoulder, filthy enough to make a sailor blush and slams the door shut between them.

Dean laughs "You eat with that mouth, dude?"

Immediately, the door opens back up and Sam stands there, slack-jawed and speechless. The look in his eyes snaps Dean to attention, filling his gut with panic, telling him more than words ever could. Sam Winchester is scared shitless.

"What?"

"Dean…" Sam mutters.

It takes two steps before Dean's next to him, looking at what's freaked his brother out so badly, a half minute more before he whispers, "What the hell, Sammy?"

Blood.

Everywhere.

The walls and ceiling are covered with it.

Bright red blood, still dripping in places, oozing down the walls to the floor, long trails of it slowly sliding down the white. Clots form as it dries, clumps of sickening gore that stop the rivulets and splay it out in vile tendrils, spreading onto the cheap plaster.

The coppery stink of it fills the room, cloying the air, making it heavy, almost sluggish.

"This wasn't here before…" Breathing through his mouth, Dean's voice is hoarse, unbelieving, "Where the hell's it coming from?"

"I don't know..." Sam shakes his head, heart still pounding in his ears. Dean's presence helps calm him…a little…but his gut is still screaming alarms. He takes a deep breath to focus and immediately regrets it – the stench fills his head, gagging him. Shallower breaths slow his pulse and his brain finally kicks in, "You...you didn't hear anything?"

"Nothing...I was just in here, too...right before I woke you up..."

"Jesus, look at it all..." Wide-eyed, Sam scans the room...he's never seen so much blood in one place before. He squints up at the ceiling, craning his neck back, "I don't see that it's coming from anywhere. It's just here, all at once...holy shit, what a mess...".

He reaches out to touch a drip, rubbing it between his fingers, needing to make it real in his own mind and grimaces, "It's blood alright..." Squinting, he catches a glimpse of something on one wall, rubs his eyes and looks again. He tilts his head to one side, "Am I seeing things or...are there pictures in this stuff? Look..." he points to some smears, "Doesn't that look like someone...uh...dancing?"

"There's another one..." Dean shows him, "And there...look, Christ, it's happening right now...Sam, what the hell?"

With disbelieving eyes, they watch trails of blood come together to form more images, creating figures that look like they're moving, writhing together in macabre dance. Intricate symbols so detailed they should have taken hours to draw appear in the space of a few minutes, the gore on the walls and ceiling eventually coming together to form one picture...telling one story...

"Look…" Sam points to a large figure that's just appeared in the center of a whorl of blood.

It's an drawing of a man...almost...a winged body, crooked and bumpy, horns atop a vile face that hold eyes so evil, so horrific that it's impossible to look at them for more than a second...the mind simply won't allow it. The eyes follow their every movement...

"Look...look at its eyes.." Sam whispers, then looks away, rubbing his face to rid himself of the image now burned into his mind, muttering as an afterthought, "It looks like the others are dancing for him, coming to him…"

Dean's brows come together, "How do you know that?"

"The way it's drawn…they're circling him but haven't reached him yet…like they're all just beginning to gather…like he's just now risen..."

Dean fills in the rest, "Like they're coming to worship him."

Sam nods silently.

"Well, who _is_ that ugly son of a bitch, Sam? Is it supposed to be Lucifer?"

His brother shrugs, "I think so, yes, but the last seal hasn't been broken yet, so he can't be freed. If this is some sort of supernatural message of what's coming, then...who sent it to us…and why?"

They look at each other in naked fear.

*

Sam copies the images onto paper as best he can and pulls out his laptop to research the symbols and figures...trying to find any clue as to what might be coming and when. They don't even know what the last seal is or how it will be broken so Sam doesn't hold out much hope on finding anything but still...

Doing something is better than sitting around waiting and _this_ he can lose himself in...researching, correlating, uncovering, connecting...It's better than just letting himself worry about the face of that thing on the wall in there...If Sam lets himself think about those eyes too much, it'll end him. All the horrors of the world are etched in those eyes.

While Sam works, Dean cleans up the bloody mess in the bathroom, scrubbing down the gore with motel shampoo, the stink of blood mixing with the sweet smell of flowers, making him wanna puke.

So much for breakfast.

*

The False Prophet watches the Winchesters through her Orb.

She sent them the drawing. She knows how the last seal will be broken.

Her eyes may be blind but her mind…her mind sees all.

Pushing sunglasses onto her nose, she whispers "Yes…soon He comes…and you will know fear…"

*


	3. Chapter 3

*

Whistling mindlessly through his teeth, the rhythm of Dean's task helps him not think too much about what it is he's washing.

Wipe the gore, rinse the cloth. Wipe the gore, rinse the cloth.

If he doesn't breathe too deeply, the urge to hurl goes away…almost…

He starts at the sink and works his way around the room. So much blood…it takes him a long time just because of how _much_ there is. Patiently, doggedly, he scrubs away the drips and smears, so that no stain is left on the white walls before he moves onto the next patch.

Wipe the gore, rinse the cloth.

Soon, a spot in his back starts to burn. Dean stops to stretch, popping his bones with a grunt of relief, rolling his neck to ease the muscles there before going back to work. The burn's still there, worse now…it feels like there are two spots, close together, stabbing into him between the shoulder blades. What the hell?

Suddenly a feeling so strong, so powerful hits him that he stiffens, drops the cloth to clench his fists, body coiling for a fight.

Someone is watching him.

Whirling around, he stares at the image of Lucifer, directly behind him. The eyes on the drawing seem alive, the figure almost pulsing with movement.

"Stop looking at me…" a small voice breaks the silence. Dean frowns…did that come out of him?

The eyes stare back at him, almost mockingly, never leaving his face.

Dean clears his throat, forcing his tone to be commanding "I said…Stop. Looking. At. Me!"

The eyes change now, daring him, challenging him…_make me_…

"What…what do you want from me?" Dean asks hoarsely, hearing a tremble in his voice.

The smile on the evil face…moves, grinning back at him with insane mirth…_all in due time…_

"_Jesus, _am I seeing this?" Dean whispers, heart pounding in his ears.

Something vibrates in the bottomless depths of the evil gaze; pulling Dean in against his will_…remember…_

He moves his face closer, staring into the abyss of those eyes, seeing flickers of fire, figures drowning in pools of hot lava, screaming as the flesh is burnt off the bone…

"No!" Dean says sharply, pulling back, shutting his eyes tight, "No!" He won't look, won't look…

_You can't hide from me…_and memories crowd into his mind, crawling up from the depths where he's hidden them, breaking through every wall he's put up until he's filled, consumed, devoured by them…

He sees himself as he was in Hell…sadistic…feral…savagely enjoying giving pain and suffering…butchering with pleasure, brutally delivering agony and torment with delight…

He is the best of the best, hated, feared, and exalted. His name is spoken in reverence and awe.

_You always liked to slice them into pieces; that was the part you liked the best…_

"Please…" his voice cracks, breaks, "please stop this…"

Disgusted, filled with contempt at his weakness, the eyes glare at him…_You were majestic, magnificent…the Prince…now look at you…you're nothing…pathetic…_

The voice slithers through the cracks in his armor, a constant mutter, no longer words but malevolence…rage…loathing…twisting at his soul, clawing at the light so only darkness can exist…

Dean shakes his head, the incessant undertone hypnotizing, the eyes mesmerizing…shining into him, pulling him in.

He can feel the wanting…the need…the yearning to simply fall into those eyes…to go back…become who he was before…to once again be worshipped, feared, glorified…

With superhuman effort, he drags his gaze away, realizing he's gasping for breath with lungs that forgot to inhale. He frantically grabs the cloth, pours more shampoo on it and turns in the direction of the image.

Reaching out blindly because he can't meet those eyes again, he scrubs at the picture using his peripheral vision, furiously rubbing it away under his fist until it's gone and he can think again.

The air in the bathroom seems different, lighter…the cloying stench fades away, making it easier to breathe, clearing his mind, making the last few minutes seem far away...hazy.

Must've been imaging things…pictures can't talk…

Dean rubs his hand across his eyes, thinking maybe he fell asleep and dreamed the whole thing. He feels his body relax in degrees, only then realizing how tense he's been holding himself.

A smile crosses his lips when he thinks what Sam will say if he knows Dean's been talking to the walls.

He turns back to the sink to rinse out the cloth, more than ready to finish cleaning up this mess. He begins where he left off, wiping more of the blood off the wall, scrubbing the stains, rinsing again…

The stink returns with a vengeance and Dean coughs, gagging on it. The spots are back, burning holes in his spine.

_Turn around…_

Fear hits him hard, shooting through his gut, so huge and real, that he loses his balance, feeling his knees give out. He grips the sink with white-knuckled hands, hanging on for dear life, fighting to resist…desperate to keep control of his body…barely, just barely holding on…

The droning in his skull becomes constant, ruthless, unyielding…commanding him…

_Turn around…_

It pulls at his mind, his heart, his soul, working its way into the deepest parts of him, weakening his willpower, ripping apart his self-control.

_Face me...  
_

His resistance fades, becoming a memory. His will is taken over by the power in that voice…not his anymore but anothers…his Father's.

He knows that voice. He's heard it before.

In Hell.

_Now._

With a half-sob, he turns towards the eyes. The image is there again. Of course it is. Did Dean think he'd be able to just _erase_ Him? Doesn't he know who _He_ is?

As he is commanded, Dean drops to his knees.

He nods, lowering his eyes in respect as he responds to the orders the voice gives him, "Yes, Sir."

*

Dean comes out of the bathroom a short time later, grabbing his coat and slinging it over himself.

Sam looks up, "Hey, all done? I thought it'd take you longer…"

"All done." Dean replies quietly, "Found anything?"

"Nope, nothing. Like looking for a needle in a haystack…"

"Well, keep at it. Maybe Bobby knows something. You should give him a call."

Sam nods, "Good idea. Where you going?"

"To get some food, the newspapers…see if anything's happening we should know about. Be back soon." Dean turns away, opening up the door.

He looks back at Sam for a second, feeling a pull of something, a longing, a memory he knows is important but…it's gone now.

Must have been a remnant, leftover from Dean's mind…not important to _Him_.

Dean is lost inside…pushed back, watching everything happen but unable to stop it.

_He_ is in control now. He is the Dean from Hell, the torturer of souls, the master of pain. This Dean has no brother, no friends, no conscience. There is no right or wrong, good or evil. There is only burning flesh, screams and fear. There is only His Father's will.

And right now, He's got a job to do.

*


	4. Chapter 4

*

Sam checks his watch again.

Only a minute has passed since the last time he looked.

Restlessly, he paces the room, his mind in overdrive, thoughts skittering around so fast he can't even catch them to make a complete thought. One repeats in his head...his mantra of the last hour...Dean, where in hell are you?

He dials Dean's cell over and over, leaving messages for his brother to get in touch and let him know what's going on but Dean doesn't call.

Sam goes into the bathroom after Dean leaves. The minute he walks in, he sees.

On the mirror, two words slashed across it, written in blood. Two words that make his heart almost stop.

_He lives._

Sam calls Bobby, trying not to panic but feels himself sliding right into it. Bobby, gruff and gentle, patiently pulls the story out of him.

Sam struggles to keep steady as he talks about the bloody pictures drawn on the bathroom wall, but his voice cracks when he tells about the image of Lucifer, trying to describe the awful, ancient eyes and the evil that emanated from it. Guilt heavy on his shoulders, he stumbles over words when telling Bobby about not being able to go back into the bathroom and Dean having to clean it all up.

At that, Sam, nerves stretched wire-thin, feels himself start to unravel and break, cold fear settling on him like an icy weight.

"It's my fault, Bobby...I should've helped him! Maybe if I'd been there...I could've stopped whatever happened! What...what if Dean..." Sam stops, unable to put his fears into words, unwilling to give them substance...

"Look, Sam. You won't do Dean any good blaming yourself. That's not gonna help. Don't worry until we know what's going on. I'm on my way."

Bobby's coming...

Until then, Sam hasn't realized how terribly alone he felt. His face crumples, feeling the hot tears come. He struggles to keep them back but he's so scared, so goddamn scared...Dean, where the hell are you?...he feels them spill out, onto his cheeks and he swipes at them, angry, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop them.

Focus...think! One breath, then another and the shakes in his hands aren't so bad now, his skin stops crawling and his pounding heart slows. Better, that's better...

Sam picks up his cell phone again, this time to call Ruby, see if she knows anything about what's going on.

"Something big's coming, Sam. Demons are whispering about it all over town, talking about signs that the last seal is about to be broken. Lillith is calling everyone to gather."

"Gather? Gather where?"

"The Old North Church in Boston…"

"Ok, I gotta find Dean and then we'll head out. Bobby's on his way…should be here within half an hour."

"Sam…"

"What?"

"The grapevine says Dean's part of it."

"What? Part of what? The last seal being broken?"

"That's what talk on the street is…"

"No, Ruby. Whatever's going down, Dean's helping to fight against it."

"Sam...I think you need to prepare yourself for what's coming. Dean's not going to be able to help you. You need to face that...and quickly..."

"Sam…" It's Castiel's voice.

Sam turns to see the angels standing behind him. Castiel's anxious expression…the alarm on Uriel's face causes new fear to rip through his belly, leaving pure terror in its wake, one thought in his head…_Lost…we're all lost_…

When angels get frightened, what hope is there for man?

"Ruby" Sam strangles out, "I…I have to call you back."

He searches Castiel's face for clues, "Where's Dean?"

"Dean is…" Castiel slides his eyes over to Uriel, then looks back at Sam,"…on his way to Boston…"

"Boston? Why? Ruby just told me Lillith is calling all the demons there, too, to meet at some church. What's going on, Cas?"

Both angels look at Sam in silence and a burst of anger rips through his gut. Is he supposed to be able to read their freaking thoughts or something?

"Will you say something!? I need to know what the hell is going on with my brother! Is Dean ok?"

Another exchange of glances and Uriel finally speaks, "The thing wearing Dean is on his way to Boston to break the last seal and free Lucifer…"

Dead silence.

Sam's heart starts to pound like a freight train in his ears, "What…what do you mean the _thing_ wearing Dean?"

"Sam…" Castiel steps closer, into Sam's line of vision, "When I pulled Dean out of hell, the shadow of my hand stayed on his skin. We were connected with it...I could always feel his presence and find him when I needed to."

He stops, tilting his head, listening hard, "Sam, we are no longer bound. There is no presence. Only silence where Dean used to be."

Trying to swallow over a suddenly dry throat, Sam stammers, "What...what does that mean, Cas? I mean...where is he? Where did he go?"

"We don't know." Castiel studies Sam, then says gently, "Like you, I am...worried."

Sam's cell phone rings and he snatches at it frantically, "Dean?"

"It's Bobby, Sam…be there in two minutes…"

Sam hangs up, glaring at the angels, "Ok, enough of this crap! I want the truth, all of it, right now! Tell me what you know!"

Castiel nods, "There was a surge of demonic activity in this area an hour ago, centered around this hotel room. Dean suddenly vanished from me…like he never existed."

Uriel continues, "Now we know that his body is driving the Impala to the church in Boston as we speak."

Sam frowns, thinking furiously, "Wait…just wait…how do you know where Dean's body is or where he's driving to if you can't feel him anymore?"

Castiel looks uncomfortable, "When we shook hands, you and I, we…connected too. What you know, I know…"

Sam takes a step back, surprised and pissed off at the same time, "But _I_ don't have your hand print on me…"

Castiel reaches forward and takes Sam's hand. Sam has to stop himself from snatching it away and rubbing the touch off. Castiel turns the palm over and points to a small mark shaped like a crescent moon on the inside of Sam's thumb.

"That's just a scar…not some angel mark…" Sam snaps but sees the truth on Castiel's face, "You should have told me…not just piggy backed me like a frigging parasite! You had no right!"

Castiel drops Sam's hand, looking confused in the face of Sam's anger, "There is no right or wrong. It is what happens when I touch humans. You forced the handshake, not I."

Cas continues, ignoring Sam's grunt of outrage, "As soon as you talked to Ruby, I heard your thoughts and we were able to locate Dean and the Impala. Since he's driving in the direction of Boston, it's a good assumption he's going to the one place that's the center of all this…the church. And since I can't hear him anymore…that can only mean…he's possessed."

Sam can't let himself think about Dean being possessed, at least not yet. Like Bobby said, he won't do Dean any good freaking out. The one good thing is that his anger at Castiel violating him, marking him, pushes away his sheer terror and he can think finally.

His hunter instincts kicked in, "What do we know about this church?"

Castiel responds, "The church is the oldest in Boston, with most of the original furniture and architecture still standing. Its records date back to the early 1700s, telling about the first congregation so unusual that it's marked in the history books. Seems all of their attendees…all of them…were once poor, destitute and, after attending one service, were suddenly visited with good fortune, becoming extremely wealthy and honored members of society. Every thirty years, another service creates another generation of…wealthy…"

Sam's eyes narrow, "Why that church, though? Even if the believers are selling their souls, they can do that anywhere…why there?"

"We don't know…"

A knock at the door and Bobby comes in, looking wide-eyed at the angels. He remembers Castiel and walks a wide berth around him.

"Sam" Bobby's eyes are narrowed, watchful, never leaving the angels, "What the hell's going on?"

"Bobby, we gotta go…Dean's on the move…I'll explain in the car…" Sam starts shoving his stuff into his duffle bag and turns, slinging it over his shoulder, ready to go.

Sam's eyes land on the bag of Skittles next to Dean's bed, the dirty clothes from the night before and his brother's duffle bag, on the chair. He swallows hard, feels himself start to slip over the edge, fighting back the tears. How quickly everything had gone to hell...in just a few hours...This morning, Dean had been dripping water on Sam's head to try to make him piss the bed and now...what he wouldn't give to see his brother's stupid smile...hear one of his smart-ass remarks...

He snaps himself back…he'll be useless if he breaks now…so he firms his jaw and moves forward, packing up all of Dean's stuff quickly, efficiently…

He hands Dean's duffel to Bobby, head down and Bobby reaches out to grab his shoulder, squeezing tightly, his way of hugging.

Sam shoots him a tremulous smile and glances at the angels as he moves towards the door, "We'll see you in Boston."

Castiel steps forward and presses a hand onto Sam's chest.

"OW!" Sam drops his bag, crying out against the sudden fire in his chest, "What the hell-?"

"I need a better connection" Castiel explains.

Sam pulls up his shirt and there, on his bare chest, is a hand print over his heart. He touches it and it's scalded, the flesh still sizzling, "Shit, Cas…a little warning next time…"

Castiel looks at Bobby, "If I touch you, it may protect you."

"You touched me before and knocked me unconscious." Bobby grumbles and when the angel continues to look at him, Bobby raises his shirt up, "Oh, go ahead…"

A hand is pressed to Bobby's heart, the imprint branded on him. Bobby hisses through the pain, breath hitching in his chest, and lowers his shirt, nodding at Castiel.

He pushes Sam's shoulder, "Come on, kid…let's get out of here"

*


	5. Chapter 5

*

The gas gauge is on E.

The sign on the highway points to a rest stop two miles away. Dean moves to the right lane and pulls off the exit.

He drives up next to a gas pump, gets out and looks in his wallet. Choosing a credit card, he swipes it, pulls out the nozzle and chinks it in the gas tank. He fills the car, putting the nozzle back into the pump.

Dean starts to get in the car when someone yells at him. Pausing, he looks around and sees the attendant coming over to him.

"Your credit card refused the charge…you gotta pay cash…" the older man snarls.

Dean looks at him and turns, beginning to get in the car.

The man grabs his arm, "Listen…asshole…you gotta pay for the gas…"

Dean studies the man's hand resting on his arm, then looks up into his face. He reaches up with his hands, grabs the man behind the head and under the chin, and twists sharply, snapping the neck with ease.

He turns the man's eyes back to him, eagerly watching the life, the light fade from the pupils. The eyes are the windows to the soul…and these windows just had their curtains closed, he thinks gleefully.

Suddenly, his gaze is caught, fascinated as he sees bright red in the corner of the man's mouth. He follows it as it drizzles out, down the man's chin and dripping onto his shirt.

Dean's eyes shine black and he licks his lips, feeling a ravenous hunger slice through him. Oh, what he wouldn't give just to taste that coppery, hot, trail…lick it off the man's face and suck it from his shirt…

Dragging his eyes away, he pushes away the need…he can't take his pleasure now…not when he's been entrusted with this…the most important job of all. Later, he can drink his fill, but now, he must go…

He looks back one more time at the blood and gives in, taking a small lick with the flick of his tongue and closing his eyes to the ecstasy…all that fear and pain in that one small drop…Delicious…

The eyes may be the windows but the blood…the blood is the heart, the emotion, the passion…where everything is raw and real, fire and ice…it's where the life is…

Dean drops the body and it hits like a stone on the pavement, the man's head lolling around with sickening ease. No one notices the sound or looks at him at all.

It's a wonderful world where one man can kill another and no one even cares…

Dean gets back in the Impala and guns the engine, soon merging into highway traffic and leisurely joining the throng of cars speeding along.

He is long gone when the other attendant finds the dead man, crumpled and broken, lying in a heap near the gas tanks and screams for help.

Excitement snakes along his spine, making Dean tremble in anticipation. He's getting close…he can feel it…the darkness of the church pulling him, calling to him to come…free them…free them all...

He must get there quickly now. The time is drawing near.

He hunches over the wheel, urging the sleek car forward, pushing down on the gas pedal, until the Impala is humming, hitting her stride…He drives recklessly, expertly swerving in and out of traffic, cutting off the other drivers with little room to spare and earning lots of loud honking and hand gestures from people behind the wheels.

The sounds, the angry faces, the middle fingers and cursing…it barely registers in his brain.

These puny insects mean nothing to him.

He is mighty, strong, majestic…he is the Trusted Servant, the Bringer of Darkness, the Ravager. He will not be stopped.

A loud horn blares, jerking his eyes to the rear-view mirror. A large eighteen-wheeler truck is close behind him, tailgating, beeping at his car and flashing its lights. Finally, it pulls to the right and passes, the driver yelling obscenities out the window at him.

Dean smiles, a dark and menacing look flaring up in his eyes as he idly picks up the pistol from the passenger seat.

The truck driver sees the glint of the gun in the sunlight and mouths the word, "oh shit" before his face is blown away.

The truck swerves wildly, careening into other cars, out of control.

It rolls over twice, crushing cars in front of it, the ones in back swerving to avoid hitting a target suddenly splayed across the highway.

Tires screech and smoke, leaving black trails in their wake as brakes slam, and drivers spin their wheels to avoid each other and the truck, now lying silently on its side, like a beached whale, gasping its last breath.

For a terrible moment, time stands still, silent…

…and then comes the awful crunch of metal, shattering of glass and the screaming…the terrible screaming…as the cars smash into its tankard, causing the nuclear waste the trucker was hauling to spill out onto the road, spreading phosphorescent liquid quickly, covering the area with a greenish, smoking glow.

Those who aren't killed outright in the crash die horribly slow, painful deaths days later from toxic exposure, their lungs liquefying and drowning them.

It takes three hours to get the bodies to the morgue and the living to the hospital and another five hours to clean up the spill. By the time the highway is passable, the living are in hiding, wishing they were dead and the dead…well, they rise up to tell their own stories.

Dean is long gone, having gunned the engine of the Impala right after he shot the man, forgetting the confrontation as soon as he passed by, never seeing the catastrophe he had offhandedly delivered. Instead, he races ahead, intent on his destination.

He reaches Boston by late afternoon. Pulling over, he closes his eyes, feeling for the church, letting the voices lead him. Opening his eyes, he puts the car in gear and turns down several streets in quick succession.

Soon, Dean sees the grand steeple sweeping up over the town, the bell tower clearly visible amid the spires and brick. He can picture the ringing room, in his mind's eye…all eight bells ringing at once, calling the believers…those who will fall to their knees and worship. Those bells will ring for his Father tonight.

Eight bells in all, but only two…the first two…are necessary for his purposes.

Dean parks the Impala and opens the trunk, touching the weapons in the back…choosing carefully what he will take with him: A sawed-off shotgun, rounds, a pistol, bullets and a combat knife, large enough to cut a good hole. He shoves the pistol in the back of his pants, pushes the sawed-off up inside the sleeve of his coat and palms the knife.

He shuts the trunk and moves towards the doors of the sanctuary…feeling his gore rise in his throat at the smell of the holy…the pure…He swallows it down, the taste of it makes him move forward, more determined to finish his task…to rid the earth of this awful stink once and for all…

Dean reaches the doors but doesn't touch them, squinting at them in the afternoon sun before chanting slowly, "_Concedo me ostium, Acerbus dominus, fas est, ego, tui filius, quisnam adeo eximo tui miser compes…_"

The door swings wide and he steps inside, blinking in the gloom before his eyes come into focus. He tilts his head, listening to an inner voice and makes his way forward, into the vestibule.

Stopping just inside the inner sanctum, he reaches out a finger, touching it to the bowl of holy water near the door, watching the water roil and bubble at his touch. He smiles when it stops, his evil taint sliding into the water, into the very church itself.

Dean narrows his eyes at the crucifix, lips sneering at the place of honor it holds right next to the altar. He stalks towards it, hands on hips, till he's in front of it. looking up at the wooden cross with the plastic..._freaking plastic..._body of Jesus molded onto it. His eyes stare intensely into the face of the Christ, revulsion twisting his mouth.

He pulls the gun out of his sleeve and places it on the altar. Reaching up, he grabs the cross-plank of the crucifix, pulling and twisting it, grunting and straining until finally, he wrenches it free of its base and the wooden cross falls with a loud crash onto the floor.

Moving to the top, he takes the knife in his hand, carves into the palm of his other hand and lets his blood drip onto the molded face and body of Jesus.

He smears the blood with his hands, moving all over the plastic figure, rubbing it into the face and streaking it on the arms, chest, legs…until Jesus looks like a garish face-painted warrior, the kind seen in nightmares and horror movies…

Scooping up the shotgun, he slides it back in his sleeve before getting a good grip on the top of the crucifix. He pulls on it, tugging it, yanking it backwards towards the door.

Yank and drag…

It's slow going because the thing is solid wood, heavy and bulky, but he continues until he has it almost to the door.

Yank and drag…

"What do you think you're doing!?" comes an alarmed voice behind him and he turns, seeing a portly man wearing a black shirt, white collar peeking out, staring at him, mouth hanging open. He sees the man's eyes go up to the altar, "What have you done, child?"

"Padre…" Dean drops the cross and steps close to the man. A flash of light glints off steel and the knife is buried in the man's white collar before he can blink.

Catching the man as he falls, Dean drags him over to the confessional booth, stuffing him onto the seat and wiping the knife off on his shirt before closing the door on the man's staring eyes.

Dean goes back to the crucifix, pulling it backwards through the door and out, into the vestibule. A door to one side in the foyer leads to the basement and he wedges it open, managing to maneuver the cross through it, grunting, shoving, pushing and pulling until he is able to let it fall down the stairs under its own weight, hearing it land with a crash.

Crawling over it, he stands, looking around the room. It is a dining hall with an attached kitchen, probably used for weddings and church dinners. He slowly scans the area, listening more than looking, until he finds what he's searching for.

He turns, pulling the cross again, over to the far wall, where the chimney is.

Dean backs up, takes the shotgun out, aims and fires off one round and then another, the sound deafening in the closed up room.

He drops to his knees and, using the knife, pries away the boards around the holes the shotgun just made. Once he has an opening, he rips with his hands, slicing fingers and knuckles while he works, blood dripping but unnoticed in his single drive to find what he's looking for.

Finally, when he has an opening large enough for him to fit through, he stops to rest for a moment, licking the blood from one of his knuckles, smiling at the taste of it, the pain of it. He knows his Father's love of blood…of anguish…it is a hunger they all have in common…the ones from below…

Dean will be glorified for his suffering, especially since it is eagerly given, willingly sacrificed for his Father's bidding.

He takes a deep breath and goes back to work, finishing pulling apart the wall, the opening now about six foot wide and long. He steps within and feels along the stone inside, running his fingers lightly over each brick, each crevice until he stops, muscles twitching with anticipation.

There it is!

Taking back up the knife, he carefully works it around into the mortar, loosening the brick in the center. Once free, he pries it out and moves to the next one, cautiously removing each brick until finally, the rectangular opening is large enough to get a hand through.

Reaching in, he caresses the raised lettering, carved into the ancient plaque:

**'Derelinquo Spero ****Omnis****, Te Hac Insisto Hic' **

Dean rubs his hand over the words with reverence, whispering, "Father…Father…I've found you…"

Quickly, he clears away the brick and stands back with a smile, dropping to his knees in awe of the beauty in front of his eyes.

The door he's revealed is alive with movement, slithering and sliding, faces moving, swirling together and then apart, forming and then reforming, the whispers behind those faces all call to him, talk to him, hail his name as the Savior..._He has come….he is here…he has come to save us…release us…he is mighty…._

Dean nods, his voice guttural, deep with emotion, "Soon…soon you will be freed…when it is time…it will be done…Wait patiently until then…"

He goes back, pulling the crucifix through the wall, so it rests near the door. Dean sits down to wait.

He waits for the bells to ring…to bring his Father home.

*

**A/N:**

This is what I was trying (and failing miserably) to say in Latin: Allow me entrance, Dark Lord, for it is I, your Son, who has come to free you from your wretched chains

The Plaque Translation: Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here


	6. Chapter 6

*

Bobby's pushing the car to eighty-five, barreling down the highway, his scowl getting deeper by the minute as Sam tells him in greater detail everything that happened since that morning.

"And the angels said Dean was possessed? By what?"

"I don't know, Bobby. Uriel called it a 'thing' and Castiel said he couldn't feel Dean at all anymore. So whatever it is, it was able to get past our protection symbols _and_ Cas's hand print to get to Dean. This is some big ass demon mojo and I gotta tell you, it's scaring the hell out of me. We don't even know what we're up against! How are we supposed to fight it?"

Sam looks out the window, shaking his head and swallowing hard. His voice is thick with tears when he finally manages to speak, "And how in hell are we supposed to save my brother?"

"We'll save him, Sam." Bobby reaches out to squeeze Sam's shoulder, "We'll get him back, kid. We just have to- Oh, Shit!!"

Bobby grabs the wheel, stomping on the brakes so hard the tires lock, squealing rubber as they bite the road. He twists the wheel, pulling the car sideways, barely stopping in time, missing hitting the car in front of him by mere inches.

With no warning, traffic ahead of them has stopped dead, cars scattered, strewn helter-skelter all over the highway, some sideways across lanes, others pulled off onto the shoulder, still others off the road completely, ass up in the ditch.

People are everywhere, running back and forth, yelling, scurrying like rats in a maze of cars.

Bobby breathes deep, trying to stop the pounding of his heart, loosening his death grip on the wheel. He looks at Sam who shoots back a bewildered "What the hell?', staring wide-eyed at the scene in front of them.

About a half-mile further up, they can see an orange barricade, haphazardly thrown together and behind it, mass confusion...police and emergency workers running around frantically, yelling, fire trucks and police cars with lights flashing and sirens wailing. Adding to the din are honking horns and car alarms bleating madly, and over it all, a haze of smoke from car fires, the smell of burning flesh and rubber hanging heavy in the air.

Bobby rolls down his window and stops a man hurrying by, "Hey, what's going on up there?"

"Bad accident. Some trucker lost control and rolled over a bunch of cars, lots of people dead and the truck spilled toxic shit all over the road. They're not letting anybody through 'til they get it cleaned up. Officials are saying we're safe back here, behind the fence but anybody past it, well, they're not doing so good, I guess."

Bobby pushes back his hat, "They say how long it's gonna take before we can get through?"

The guy shrugs, "Few hours is what I heard. They're trying to divert traffic but so far, nothing. Official word is 'they're working on it" so that pretty much means we're stuck here." and he's gone, scurrying away into the crowd .

"Well, that's just frigging wonderful." Bobby grumbles to Sam, who's frantically searching his laptap for an alternate route. Sam snaps his finger and points to the screen, "Got it!"

Bobby looks in the rearview mirror and shakes his head, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "Too late, Sam. We're not going anywhere."

Sam looks behind them and sees the cars, stacked up, boxing them in. He pounds the dashboard with a fist, "Dammit, Bobby! We don't have time for this! We gotta get to Dean!"

"Don't yell at me, boy! This ain't my doing!" Bobby snaps back and then shuts up, knowing Sam's just scared. Sam isn't the only one.

He sighs, getting out of the car, slamming the door for satisfaction, squinting in the late afternoon sun. Sam joins him, making frustrated noises like that'll help any, and motions with a hand, "Let me go see what I can find out."

Bobby nods, watching Sam work his way through the cars and people, his mind going a mile a minute, searching his memory banks to figure out what could possibly have taken over Dean. Nothing that he remembers is that powerful but something nudges his brain, something he read recently...

He scowls, narrowing his eyes and tries to bring back the memory. Dammit! He's got nothing. He rubs his forehead, going at it another way, trying to place where he was or who he was talking to. An image of Dean comes to mind, staring at Bo Derek, saying "Oh!" in a funny voice and the memory snaps into place. He was in the panic room, reading Revelations and there was something about the AntiChrist rising.

Bobby tries to bring back the words that he read, staring into the distance to help his focus, realizing he's inadvertently gawking at a woman standing in front of him. She's looking back at him and he nods, almost smiles at her in apology and then realizes the hairs on his neck are rising up, his internal alarm going off loudly.

The way she's looking at him...she's glaring, her eyes cold and hostile, like she wants to kill him. He looks behind him to see if she's maybe looking at someone else but no, it's him she's wanting to wipe off the face of the earth. This stranger wants him dead, plain and simple, and he knows it, feels it in his gut.

Bobby's eyes slide away from her, to the man standing next to her. Shit, he's doing it too, staring a hole straight through him, shooting bullets at him with his eyes and there's another, this one a little boy, glaring up at Bobby with palpable hate.

What the hell?

Suddenly, the people milling around him, so noisy and frantic a moment ago, have all gone dead quiet.

His eyes snap from person to person…every one of them…every eye...staring at him, loathing and rage in their faces...piercing him with their unwavering gaze...drawing a bead on him in unison.

Bobby's body is reaching for the shotgun before his mind even tells it to move.

Someone bumps into him and he swings wild. Sam manages to block most of the punch but it still clips him good on the chin, "Shit, Bobby…" and it's clear that Sam's seen them too, every person, every one, all staring at _them_, silently, with glassy, hate-filled eyes.

Sam's gun's in his hand, taking in their predicament with a side-swing of his head. They're surrounded, the crowd swelling closer, pushing at them.

Bobby can feel Sam's back against his, pressing up against him and he leans backward so they're back to back, facing the threat, circling desperately so nothing can hit them without them seeing, cornered...

"What do you want?" Sam yells into the crowd, trying to buy some time…even though he knows they're outnumbered and as good as dead, he's still gotta try.

Bobby cocks his gun, taking aim at a burly man pushing up close, snarling, "Back off or I'll open you a hole."

The man smiles at him and his eyes turn black. Next to him, the teenager, pimply faced and lanky legs, his eyes change, too, going black as ebony.

The old woman, the pretty blond in the short skirt, the Hell's Angel biker, all of them...everyone that Bobby can see, eyes all turn black as night.

Demons. Every single one of them.

Sam's back stiffens and Bobby knows he's seen them change, too. He feels Sam moving against him and twists his head, shooting a look over his shoulder.

Sam has his arm outstretched, hand swinging back and forth like a crazy pendulum, first to one demon, then to the next, panicking, unable to focus his mind on just one of them, not knowing who to send back to hell first.

"Get back!" Sam voice shakes, "Holy shit, Bobby! Are you seeing this?"

"Sam, how many can you take out?" Bobby snaps, pulling out his holy water.

"Not enough to matter, Bobby, there's too many of them." Sam hisses back, still swinging his arm to stop their advancing.

With each move, the demon he singles out falls back but others press ahead and he's getting nowhere with his threats; he's going to have to focus and take some down so the others back off. Sam shoves his gun down his pants so he doesn't lose it while he's in the throes of pushing their demon asses back to hell. If he's going down, he's going down fighting.

Sam chooses a short, balding man standing directly in front of him, concentrating intently, his vision tunneling until he sees only the man, focusing his power and gathering it to him. The man starts to retch and heave, black smoke curling out, slowly until Sam gives a push and then it pours out of his mouth, gushing into the air around him until he drops to the ground. Sam grips the smoke tightly, sending the demon essence back to hell.

Sam comes back to awareness, wiping his bloody nose and reaches out towards another. The demons surge towards them, trying to pull Bobby away but he fights back, throwing holy water out in splashes, and shooting as many bastards as he can hit. Sam takes out another one but he's too slow, too goddamn slow and they're losing ground quick. In another minute, they'll be dead and unable to help anybody.

Suddenly, the crowd goes silent, standing still as statues, black eyes staring straight ahead, heads cocked to one side, listening to something Sam and Bobby can't hear.

Their mouths open in unison, piercing the air with ear-splitting screams, black smoke pouring out of them, foul and putrid, retching, spewing into the sky, rolling together into a dark, pulsating cloud.

The bodies drop to the ground with sickening thuds, some already dead, some almost dead and still others crying and shrieking in pain and agony at the state of their own flesh. For most of them, the demons have been riding them for so long, keeping them going that once they are emptied of the evil entity, their bodies are so injured and broken that only their minds are working, alive, in pain, aware...

The smoke hangs heavy in the air, the stink of sulfur burning the nose, growing as each demon soul is added, waiting until all have been gathered into its depths and then…

It shoots across the sky, torpedo-like, the frenzy of evil now flying over the barricade, past the sirens and lights, landing on the other side, to possess new bodies over there, moving with one purpose, to get to their final destination.

Sam and Bobby watch in horror as the bodies fall and the demons rush away. They run forward, towards the barricade and hands are reaching for them, grabbing at their pants and boots, the meat-suits the demons left behind, broken, dying, crying, screaming, needing help.

Sam is tripped, falling on his knees, desperate fingers clutching at him, voices begging, "Help me, please…", praying for deliverence, for the end to come take them.

His eyes fill with tears as he looks up at Bobby, pulling the hands from him and struggling to his feet, taking up his gun.

Sam knows what he has to do, knows it's the only thing he can do for them but he fights against it, staring at Bobby with sad, hopeless eyes. Bobby's reached the same conclusion and nods at Sam, his own heart wrenching with the weight that's just dropped on them. He'd rather die than have to do this and he knows after this, they'll never be the same.

Bobby flinches as the first shots ring out, as Sam starts to put down those in the most misery, shooting them quick, clean, through the temple. Bobby is faced with the responsibility of selecting the ones who can't survive, holding them for Sam to kill, helping him do the unspeakable. One after another, each body more broken than the last, some struggle against them but Bobby holds fast and Sam's gun never wavers.

Both men are sobbing in despair, tears rolling down their faces as they do what they must and when it's done, Bobby grabs Sam up, hugging him tight and breathes a prayer, "Jesus, please forgive us." as they struggle to climb over the bodies now surrounding them.

They go back to Bobby's car, loading up as many weapons as they can carry and start towards the barricade, not having any clear plan in mind other than to get to Boston. Since Boston is beyond the restricted area, they're going through the fence, one way or the other and God help anyone who gets in their way or tries to stop them.

As they draw near, they see a figure in a HAZMAT suit come to the barricade, waiting for them. Without a word, two of the protective suits are handed over and Sam tries to see inside the helmet, squinting his eyes and moving close. A hand reaches up and pulls off the mask and a tall dark haired man stares back at them.

"Do we know you?" Sam asks, hesitantly taking the suits.

"It's me, Sam."

"Ruby?"

"Yes. Put these on. We don't have much time."

"Where's your body?" Sam asks.

Ruby motions sideways, "Over there. I'll be right back." and goes to possess her old body again. She keeps the HAZMAT suit, putting it on and leaving the tall man safely wandering behind the barricade, away from the radiation spill.

When she re-joins them, Sam and Bobby already have their suits on and they venture forward, past the barricade and into what looks to be a war zone.

They hurry past the smashed vehicles, cars twisted and dented, pieces everywhere, fenders, doors, tires laying all over the ground. Their boots crunch over the shattered safety glass as they pass by broken metal and body parts.

Bobby and Sam avert their eyes, trying not to look at the dead and injured, their minds shutting down, having reached their breaking point, shell-shocked. Later, when this is all over, they can maybe comprehend the horror they had to commit but for now, there's no looking back, no time for re-thinking necessary actions. They have to move ahead, soldier on, save Dean, stop Lucifer, keep on fighting. Later on, they can let themselves think, remember, cope but not now, not when so much is at stake, so much to lose…

If there even is a 'later on'.

They step over rivulets of radioactive waste, a glowing greenish bile, hoping to hell that the suits will protect them so they can manage to get out of this alive, with their organs and bodies still working. Almost through now, they can see the other side of the barricade and start to run, white boots thumping, seeing the clean air, the light outside of this greenish, smoke-filled nightmare.

They all see it at once, a HAZMAT truck, on the other side of the fence, complete with sirens and lights.

Seems luck is finally cutting them a break.

A twist of wires, a spark and they're on the road again, leaving it all behind them, the screaming and the crying of the almost dead still pounding in their ears.

It's the sounds of their worst nightmares.

*


	7. Chapter 7

*

Dean hears slow, deliberate footsteps on the stairs.

On silent feet, he steps away from his post, a good soldier guarding the entrance to his Father's home, and crouches, loaded shotgun in one hand. He narrows his eyes over the barrel, taking careful aim at the stair landing, barely breathing.

The footsteps pause at the bottom, stopping just short of the landing and a singsong female voice rings out, cheerful, laughing, "Dean…is that you?"

He keeps his silence, waiting.

The voice changes, deepens, becomes solemn, "Put down the gun. It is I."

Dean closes his eyes, listening intently and then nods, lowering the gun slowly, sliding it to the floor, "It's almost time."

Pamela Barnes steps down on the landing, into the light, her dark glasses glinting, a smile playing on her lips, "You were successful. I can feel it."

"Yes."

"They're coming. The flock is gathering..."

"Yes." Dean pulls her forward, "You've been here since yesterday?"

"It was from here that I sent you the message."

She reaches forward, her hand outstretched and Dean guides her across the room, through the wall, moving her fingers to the door. Tracing the words engraved there, she smiles, breathing in deeply, smelling the children below. Kneeling down now, she caresses the door, the faces of the souls swirl under her touch, lifting up to meet her, stroking her lovingly in return.

_She has come, she has come...the seer of all unholy…mix the blood…the Beast…the sign must be complete… _

The psychic, the real Pamela Barnes, hides in depths of despair, madness, in the dark, hidden corners of her mind. Unprepared for the onslaught, she was easily overpowered by the evil force that swept into her home and took her five days ago, summoned and sent by Lillith. Now, unknown and unseen, she wanders, looking for an escape, a rescue that never comes. Now, only the False Prophet is aware, all knowing and all seeing.

Without words, she knows what comes next, what must be completed for the seal to be broken. This is her gift to the Father, the role she has been brought forth to play, one she steps into willingly, lovingly, and she will die for Him without question.

The glint off the knife reflects in her sunglasses as Dean kneels next to her. She offers her hand, palm up and the sharp tip of the knife is pressed into the tender flesh, a bead of blood appearing instantly.

Dean smiles at the blood, bending to press his lips to it, licking it up into his mouth, claiming the first drop as his own. This is the essence of the Spirit…the Liar…the Giver of False Hope…

He closes his eyes at the delicious taste of sin, rolling it over his tongue to savor it. He struggles with his own hunger, his primal urges, to keep going and suck her dry, but doing that would kill the host, and she is necessary, so he must resist.

Resist the blood. He grits his teeth, almost shaking with the want of it, the need for it. He takes a ragged breath for control and bends his head to his task, carefully slicing, artfully dragging the knife in a circle, cutting deep, ending the line with a deep sweep of the blade. When he's done, a number six, edges torn and ragged, drips blood onto the floor.

He allows himself to lick the knife clean...

Working quickly, Dean reopens his own wound, slicing open the blood line that's already clotted there, his own number six, carved before in the church, now bleeding anew…

He pulls Pamela over to the crucifix, letting her blood drip onto the effigy of Jesus, smearing it on the face and body, on top of Dean's dried blood, until the figure is covered with the grisly second coating.

Dean places her dripping wound on his own, hands clasped tightly, fingers hooked, mixing their energies together.

Shimmering, almost glowing, their tightly joined hands unite into one, a single arm, a single purpose...

She yanks off her sunglasses with her other hand, her eyes blazing with amber fire.

It is time.

_DONG!_

The toll of the first bell rings out overhead, the building almost shuddering with foreknowledge.

_With this clamor, we were cast out! Thrown out of our rightful place. Once worshipped, adored, now shunned, abandoned…_

Dean drops her hand, breaking contact. He struggles to lift the wooden crucifix, holding onto the cross beams with both hands and pulling it snug against his body, his arms wrapped around it, muscles straining under his shirt to hold its weight.

_DONG!_

Deeper this time, the tone hums through the old church's timbres, causing them to creak in despair…

_Ring out! Our mouths have been opened…sing praise to our Father…who rises again…in all his glory…_

Dean rushes forward, slamming the top of the cross into the door, using it as a battering ram. The souls scream in agony but the door stands firm against the onslaught, not giving an inch.

DONG!

Dean steps back and bashes the door with the cross again. Nothing.

**Through me you pass into the city of woe ***

DONG!

Again, he rams the door but it gives not an inch.

**Through me you pass into eternal pain  
**

DONG!

**Through me among the people lost for aye  
**

DONG!

**Supremest wisdom, and primeval love  
**

DONG!

**Eternal, and eternal I endure **

With each crash of the bells, Dean pulls back and bashes into the door with the cross, his hands torn and bleeding, his breath rasping in his chest. Each time, the door stands fast.

DONG!

**All hope abandon ye who enter here.**

With a final scream, he throws himself forward, crashing the wood into the door just as the last bell tolls, the wood finally giving up, the crucifix smashing into it and through it, the head and arms of Jesus embedded inside and then…

the blood smeared on the face and body of Jesus enters into the evil wood, running through its veins, feeding the souls who wait with mouths open, ravenous, throats parched from the eternal fire.

They drink deeply, shrieking with delight at the glorious taste of the almost Beast…hailing his birth…The Liar's blood now fills their mouths, the shrieks turn to screams of rapture...

_He's coming! He's coming!_

The souls come together, their voices now a crescendo, greedy anticipation now a bloody reality, until the voices become one and an ear-splitting keening fills the shimmering air.

Suddenly, the door erupts in a fiery burst of blinding light, flames shooting out, engulfing both Dean and Pamela, blowing them backwards with such force they're slammed into the back wall.

Dean shakes his head to clear his vision, miraculously unburnt, staring at the gaping hole with wondrous eyes.

A clawed hand emerges, reaching up, grasping for purchase, any anchor it can use to pull itself up with.

With a cry, Dean falls on his knees, scrabbling forward, Pamela right behind him. He reaches out, gripping the hand tightly, the clawed fingers folding around his own, digging in, piercing his skin, drawing blood.

He braces his knees, pulling with all his strength but feels himself sliding towards the hole.

He yells over his shoulder, "Grab my belt" and feels Pamela's hands on his waist, her inhuman strength holding him in place.

Dean falls back, sitting on his butt and braces his feet against the wall. Straining, sweating, using both hands now, he tightens his grip and slowly, painfully, straightens his knees, pulling backwards, fighting the sucking hole that wants to keep its prize.

The pit gives a little and Dean is rewarded with a forearm emerging. He moves up, bending his knees and clutching the arm now, pushing back again, using his strong legs, straightening them. More of the arm appears and Dean reaches up, grabbing a shoulder…

pull…straighten…

The other hand surfaces now and the dance begins again…

pull…straighten…

Finally, horns appear…the ridges of a bony forehead and Dean reaches into hell, grabs his Father under the arms and with a agonized scream, uses every bit of his strength to rip him from the bowels below.

He gets the figure halfway out…waist and legs still stuck in the pit and pulls back, staring in reverence at the prone creature laying, eyes closed, chest hitching with exertion.

"Father?" Dean whispers hesitantly, reaching out, hand trembling in the air…scared to touch…

Pamela moves to his side, waiting with bated breath…the air pulsing with promise…with purpose…

Dean touches the forehead ridges, lightly caressing, rubbing gently, prodding, "Father…"

Sapphire eyes snap open, reptilian pupils, unblinking, they stare into Dean's green ones.

A guttural voice, older than the ages, rasps across the air, "Get me out"

"Yes, Sir." Dean snaps to attention, immediately grabbing the creature around the waist and begins to pull.

Pamela moves to take hold of Dean's belt but she's stopped by the ancient voice, "No. My son needs no help."

Dean struggles alone, yanking and pulling, grunting with effort, fighting for every inch of freedom.

Lucifer, his eyes glowing, watches Dean wrestle the pit for him, refusing to lift even a finger to help. The glory will be given when the battle has been won.

Time has no meaning now, there is only the fight with Dean's focus on one goal. He strains against his enemy, panting with exertion, breath wheezing in his chest, pulling, twisting, tugging, until, with a cry of triumph, he wrenches the last limb free and falls back, exhausted.

When he catches his breath, Dean lifts himself up, moving back towards his Father's head. He waits, on his knees, eyes downcast…chest still heaving gulps of air, feeling beaten, broken.

A clawed hand touches his hair and the gravelly voice reaches his ears, words he'd give his life over and over again to hear.

"Well done…my son…"

Now the hand, under his chin, lifting it so he can once again look into those blazing blue eyes, "From now on, the only one you have to show respect to is me. All others will bow before you."

Lucifer picks up Dean's hand, turning it over.

Using a claw, the now clotted number six in Dean's hand is sliced open again, fresh blood flowing easily. Pamela's hand is offered up and carved into, until her number drips with blood again.

The devil holds up his hand, palm forward, showing his number six now glowing with internal fire. He grasps Pamela's hand first, her blood mixing with his fire, making her cry out in pain as the flesh sizzles. Her cut is cauterized and is now branded onto her hand. She is pushed away.

Dean reaches forward, eagerly and his Father grips his hand tightly, pressing his palm onto Dean's, the smoking flesh giving off its sickly sweet odor…the blood and fire sliding into and out of each other. Dean grits his teeth against the pain, determined he will not break and cry out with it, even though his flesh is searing to the bone. Lucifer watches him, smiling at his iron will, proud of his strength.

Dean is finally released and sits back on his haunches, cradling his injured hand in his lap, looking at it with both pain and pride. His mark, the three sixes, now joined together, seared into his flesh just under the thumb.

Lucifer stands and holds a hand down for Dean, who rises to stand next to Him

Dean. No longer Dean. Now the Lion, the Dragon…

The Beast has become.

*

*

**A/N:** * Excerpts from the Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: ** The ending of this chapter has been changed to allow for better explanation in the next chapter.

*

*

Don't think. Don't think.

Sam's drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, watching the white lines roll away under the tires, holding his thoughts tightly in check. He's got the lights flashing, pedal to the floor cruising at eighty and cars are pulling over to let him pass.

If he thinks, he's going to lose it.

…The faces, all those people, all that blood. He feels his mind slide sideways and yanks it back, gritting his teeth until his jaw aches, focusing intensely on the white lines coming towards him.

Don't think!

"Sam" Bobby puts a hand on his arm, jerking his attention off the road.

Sam flicks his eyes over for a brief second, meeting Bobby's for the first time since they got through the barricade and they're bloodshot, dead, haunted, just like he knows his are.

Bobby talks low, like he doesn't want Ruby to hear. Sam glances in the rear-view mirror at her and she's not paying attention, staring out the window at the passing scenery.

"I think I may have figured out what we're dealing with. I need to make some calls, to be sure. Can you find somewhere to pull over? I don't want an audience…" Bobby's eyes snap to the back seat and back to Sam.

Sam motions with his head, saying quietly, "We can trust her, Bobby."

"Sam, she's a demon. I don't trust demons, period. And you shouldn't either. They're evil sons of bitches, every last one of them."

Sam studies the grizzled face, the scruffy beard and the baseball cap, and realizes that, right now, Bobby is the only person in the world he _does_ trust. Sam nods, murmuring "I need to get directions to the church, anyway. We're almost there."

At the next gas station he sees, Sam pulls off and up to the pumps. If Bobby doesn't want Ruby to know what he's doing, needing gas is as good an excuse as any to pull over. Sam gets out to pump and Bobby wanders away, mumbling about needing to take a leak.

Sam hears a car door slam and he looks over at Ruby, now rounding the car to stand near him, watching him pump the gas. He asks her a question that's been nudging at him for a while "Ruby, how'd you know Dean was involved in breaking the last seal?"

"Lillith told us, when she called us. I'm still on demon wavelength, remember? I can hear everything any other demon can. That's how I knew about the church, too. She said Dean was going to go open the last seal."

"Do you know what demon is possessing Dean?"

Ruby looks towards the bathrooms where Bobby disappeared, then back at Sam, "Talk is it's not just a demon, Sam. It's _the_ demon, the only one with enough power to break the last seal."

"What do you mean, enough power?"

"The last doorway is almost impossible to penetrate. No ordinary demon has the juice to do it. Only the Chosen One, called by the Dark Lord Himself, can open the seal. That demon has Lucifer's blood flowing in his veins…dormant until he's called and then…"

Sam puts the nozzle back in the pump and caps the gas tank, narrowing his eyes at Ruby, "And then what? And called by who?"

"Legend is the False Prophet calls the demon, awakens the fire in his blood, gives him back memories that are hidden deep in his mind, reminds him of who he is and who he is supposed to become. Once he's resurrected, his blood can open the doorway. I don't know much about the ritual itself but the Liar…I mean, the False Prophet is part of it, too."

"Do you know what the last seal is, Ruby?"

"It's supposed to be the Entrance to Hell, the one Satan himself created when he was cast out of Heaven. It's guarded by the Children…all the original souls cast out with Satan…that he took with him to hell. They won't let just anyone open up the Entrance and they'll rip anyone apart who tries to hurt the Father."

"So, you're telling me Dean has Lucifer's blood in him? How?"

"Lillith told me." Ruby replies, "It's a gift only given to the One, Sam. Most souls who go to hell only want one thing...to get out. But every once in a while, a soul will come along, a true Tormentor, that rises in the ranks, truly embraces the evilness he becomes, enjoys the pain and torture he delivers so much that it takes him over, consumes him and whatever humanity he once had is lost. Each soul that is ripped apart, shredded, and broken is devoured, their essence added to the Tormentor's core of power."

Ruby continues, "The Tormentors must destroy everyone who is like them…it's what drives them, so they come together to fight, to kill each other because there can be only one. The winner of the combat gains the essence of all the souls the loser has inside, growing stronger with each battle won. Eventually, there is one left standing, hated and feared by all and he revels in it, the hate feeding him and making him even stronger."

"Even bound, Lucifer is aware of him and eventually, calls to him, telling him he has been chosen to stand at His right hand during His Second Coming."

"The demon is sent away to exile, away from Acheron*, starved for six hundred and sixty-six hours and then brought back in front of the Father, who gives the One his blood, his own life force to drink and then sends him to the Children, who give him their flesh to eat. He is ravenous, parched and near dead but is revived with the nourishment of evil he is given. His new hunger, for blood and flesh, is with him constantly."

"Jesus…Like a frigging demonic last supper…" Sam swallows painfully, "And you're telling me that this 'One' is Dean? My brother was this unstoppable Terminator in Hell and now eats flesh and drinks blood?"

Ruby stares at him and says, "Yes, that's what I'm telling you."

Sam flinches like he was slapped, "And when did you find out about all of this, Ruby? When were you planning on letting me in on it?"

Ruby glances away, frowning at the bathrooms, "I knew about the Tormentor and the final seal since I went back to Hell and got close enough to Lillith for her to trust me with the information. I didn't know it was Dean until today. Sam…Bobby's been gone a long time..."

"Well, he's probably taking a dump. He'll be out as soon as he's done." Sam opens his laptop to get directions to the church, hands shaking as he tries to digest everything Ruby's just told him.

"I have to go to the bathroom." Ruby remarks and walks away, leaving Sam looking at her back curiously.

A minute later, Sam's phone rings with a text message from Bobby:

p barnes gone unholy trilogy rising need red dragon spellbook at church box pew Gage in deacon bench

"Sam?" Ruby's voice reaches his ears. He looks up to see both Ruby and Bobby walking towards him, Bobby looking like he just ate something sour.

Ruby motions to his phone, "Did Dean call?"

"What? Oh, no, wrong number." and Sam deletes the text message, closing up the phone quickly, "Are you ready to go?"

"I'll drive, Sam." Bobby catches his eye and Sam nods at the unspoken question, yeah, Bobby, got your message, understood…

Once on the road, Sam checks the laptop, giving Bobby directions to the right part of town.

Barely moving his lips, looking straight ahead, Bobby mumbles, "She was listening outside the bathroom door when I opened it."

Sam's eyes don't move from his computer as he murmurs back, "Did she hear anything?"

Bobby coughs, "not sure.."

Sam nods slightly, checks the laptop again and points to a road up ahead, "Turn there."

He directs Bobby, pointing out which turns to take and they drive slowly, cautiously, down one side street after another, turning onto a cobblestone path until they see the steeple of the church looming up in front of them.

Bobby looks at Sam, "Seems quiet enough."

They feel it before they hear it, a humming that comes up from the ground, vibrating, making the very air around them throb, shimmer. Bobby stops the truck, watching as other cars around them do the same. Sam and Bobby exchange looks and without a word, open their doors and step out onto the road, joining the other people already looking around, confused.

The sky above them darkens, black clouds rolling in overhead, coloring everything a bluish gray, melting sharp edges until cars, buildings, trees, road all blur together.

Lightening slashes through the sky, a stark flashbulb snapping freeze frames of people's faces, showing unease and fear, hollow eyes and tense bodies. Thunder hits loud and hard, the sudden boom causing people to cry out, cringe and hunker down for cover.

The wind picks up quickly, howling through the trees, stones and debris caught up in it, flying around, smashing into car windows and people, shattering glass. Painful screams now filling the air as the stones find marks in tender flesh.

Bobby and Sam duck for cover as Ruby gets out of the truck, shielding her face, yelling, "We're too late!"

The humming grows in volume, the ground trembling underfoot and the truck starts to shake like there's an earthquake under it. The air becomes dense, thick, a putrid smell hitting them full force and Sam gags, covering his nose with his arm.

"What the hell is that smell?" Sam yells.

Ruby shouts over 'It's the souls of the dead!"

The humming grows louder, the air pulsing, electrified, causing goosebumps to rise on arms and hair to stand on end…_something's coming_…

A darkness swells over the air. Sam looks up at the sky and sees the crows, thousands of them, all flying towards the church in great black waves, shrieking caws, wings snapping, swooping down at the people on the street…

Bobby gestures wildly and Sam sees one of the crows dive down onto an old man, scrabbling with its talons, pecking with its beak, the man beating his arms around his head, trying to get it off but it won't stop. The bird continues to peck and scratch at the man until he falls, crawling on the ground and the crow swings low, gouging out a clump of flesh from the man's face, making him scream in fear and pain, curling up in the fetal position, covering his face. Another crow joins the first and they're _eating_ him, for Christ's sake…

Sam runs to the man but the ground turns, changes, the pavement rolling up in waves, swelling and ebbing, making balance impossible and the people outside are now clinging to their cars, trying to keep their footing, stumbling, falling.

Sam struggles to reach the fallen man, pulling himself from car to car, using them as anchors to stay upright. He stumbles over a moving wave and falls on his knees, crawling towards the man as fast as he can but the guy's not moving anymore and when Sam reaches him, rolls him over, his eyes are ripped out of his head and his neck gashed, blood pumping out too fast to save him.

Sam looks around to see the crows after everyone, attacking, ripping to shreds and the people are trying to crawl away, unable to run because of the roiling, swelling ground that keeps rising and dipping underfoot. So many birds...they're everywhere and these poor people don't have a chance of getting away, they're just getting torn apart one by one. The crows aren't coming after Sam, though, just flying around him to get to others.

"SAM!" It's Bobby and he's got a crow on his back, beak pecking at his neck viciously. Bobby's thick flannel shirt is helping protect him but it won't take long before the bird rips him to pieces.

Sam tries to stand but the ground heaves him forward and he falls painfully onto his knees. He crawls towards Bobby, finally reaching him, pulling himself up and grabbing the crow off Bobby's neck. The bird is screaming and pecking at Sam's hands, and Sam grabs its head in his other hand and twists, ripping the damn thing in two.

He pushes Bobby out of the way and gets the door open to the truck, shoving Bobby inside and crawling in after him, shutting the door with a bang. A crow hits the window of the door, smashing the glass, pulling screams from both of them. Other crows continue to batter the truck, trying to get in to rip them to pieces.

Wheezing and gasping, they look at the horror out the window, unable to process the abomination their eyes are seeing.

Sam grips Bobby's arm, "Where's Ruby?"

Bobby shakes his head, "I lost her when the crows came."

Suddenly, two hands appear on the hood of the truck, grasping for purchase, nails scraping on the metal, slowing pulling upright. The dead man that Sam tried to help rises up in front of them, trying to keep his balance over the rolling ground, hanging onto the truck, grinning at them with a bloody mouth, eyes now shiny black.

"Holy shit, Bobby! The crows are demons!" Sam yells, watching as all the dead begin to rise, black eyes in faces spattered with blood, flesh hanging off faces pecked down to the bone by pointed beaks.

The swells and waves rolling through the ground begin cracking the pavement, huge fissures splitting wide open. A hill rises up behind the HAZMAT truck, lifting up the ass end, and the pavement in front of them is rupturing, ripping, a weird glow emanating up, coloring their faces with orange and red. Bobby and Sam can do nothing but hang on and hope the whole frigging truck doesn't fall into one of the damn things…

Fire licks up from the cracks as the chasms open wider, splitting the road and ground all around them. Smoke and brimstone hang in the dark, an intense heat slapping against the truck, the air now flickering and crackling in their ears.

The dead begin to crawl out of the ground, out of the splits and cracks, scrabbling up out of the pit to the earth's surface, rising to their knees and the crows fly at them with gleeful caws, possessing each rotting corpse that emerges.

The demon in front of their truck turns away, dropping to his knees and crawling towards the church. Sam and Bobby watch as all the demons do the same, scrabbling along the pitching ground like a herd of sheep, clawing and dragging their way towards the holy building in front of them.

The ground stops yawing and rolling, the underground pressure has been released by the splitting fissures and the wind has died down, an unearthly silence now pressing down on the air, the only sounds the crackle of the fire.

Alone now, Bobby and Sam get out of the truck and move forward, following the demons towards the figure they see now standing in the distance. Cars, trees, houses are burning, the acrid smoke stinging their eyes, they inch closer until they can see the creature clearly.

"Jesus, would you look at that thing…" Bobby whispers.

Sam feels terror shoot through him at his first look at Lucifer. All he can see is its eyes…they're the same as the ones painted on the bathroom wall…those evil, repulsive, gloating eyes that see all and know all. The devil knows they're here, Sam can feel it in his gut, and _He_ wants them to look upon _Him_, at _His_ glorious return to power. _He_ wants them to how weak they are, how helpless and how they can't stop a damn thing that's happening here.

The crowd surrounds _Him_, bowing their heads in reverence and awe at the presence of their Lord.

Bobby and Sam move closer, hearing the figure call for attention. They see Pamela Barnes next to the Devil, on _His_ left side, eyes now filled with an orange blaze, smiling out at the worshippers, beckoning to them to come closer, to surround their Father.

Lucifer looks straight at Sam, piercing him with blazing blue eyes, pinning him where he stands. Sam feels himself falling, his identity being ripped away, his will not his own anymore. Those eyes are sucking the life out of him…

Bobby tries to grab Sam's arm, "Where are you going?"

Sam looks back at him with dazed eyes, dimly realizing he's walking right up to Satan, staring straight into those eyes, being called to come forward. He comes to a stop about ten feet in front of the creature, only seeing those eyes in front of him and waits as he's bid to. Lucifer introduces his son to the world with a flourish and a sweep of wings.

Sam sees…_Jesus...oh, Jesus_...it's…

Dimly, Sam realizes his bladder has let go, feeling the wet in his pants as he recognizes Dean's features in the monster that stands in front of him. His mind turns away from it, his sanity precarious, dangling…

and he screams, "NOOOOO!" because that thing isn't his brother, that thing isn't even human and someone's made a mask of Dean's face but stretched it into something else…evil eyes glittering, cheek bones gaunt, stark, face white, lips blood red curled over white teeth...

He stumbles backwards, his stomach heaving and he falls to the ground, puking his guts out, hopeless, crying in his despair, there's no saving Dean from that...

_Stand up._

Sam hears the words commanding him and before he knows it, he's clamoring to his feet. The Son of Satan comes to stand a few feet in front of him, tilting his head curiously, studying his face.

Someone stands by his side and Sam risks a glance, only moving his eyes, seeing Ruby there, smiling at the sight before her. She moves forward two steps, towards the One, and Sam croaks out, "Ruby, no! Stay back…you'll get hurt!"

He hears Ruby's voice come back to him, mockingly, sarcastic, "You always were pretty stupid, Sam."

Turning around to face him, her eyes completely white now, she shakes her head, "and _way_ too trusting…"

"Lillith!" Sam whispers, heart pounding in his ears.

*

*

* **A/N:**Acheron – the stream of woe in Greek mythology, a branch of the river Styx, across which the souls of the dead are ferried to Hades (Wikipedia/Dante's Inferno). In this story, it's the only source of water available in Hell.


	9. Chapter 9

*

Sam glares at Lillith, "All this time, it's been you? Why?"

The demon scornfully shakes her head, "Come on, Sam, you're a bright boy. You can't figure it out? I wanted your power, ever since I sent Dean to hell but I knew I just couldn't take it from you. Somehow, you're immune to my shine so I had to find some other way to get it. So, I raised a little hell…"

"What?! You mean you did all this, broke all the seals, killed all these people just so you could get my power? You're freaking kidding me, right?"

Her hands on hips, Lillith's voice whines loudly, "I _wanted_ it! And when I want something, I get it!"

"Why pretend to be Ruby?"

"Because it was fun, silly boy. You were so easy to play with, so eager to believe I had become a 'good' demon."

She giggles, clapping her hands, "All I had to do was say something that sounded like your brother. I pulled it right out of your thoughts, you know. In your head, you kept telling yourself Dean wouldn't want you to kill yourself and I just repeated it back to you. That got me 'in' and you told me everything."

Lillith continues, "I got you to use those wonderful powers of yours, going against God and the angels, even going against Dean, damning your soul a piece at a time, every time you sent another demon back to hell. As soon as you took me up on my offer to help, you started your debt to me. Then, when we did the dirty…well…that opened the doorway, mixing my blood with Azazel's, it changed you, made you stronger, made you whole and it gave me control…"

With a mix of disgust and horror, Sam repeats, "Control?"

"I own your soul, Sam. The minute you kissed me, I owned you and I paid for it fair and square, my body for your essence. See, I was a Tormentor in hell, just like Dean but I didn't struggle with my humanity for thirty years like your brother. Nope, one day on that rack was all it took. As soon as I was offered, I got up and got busy. Soon, I had devoured all the souls I needed and I started selling them to others, for favors…Then I got promoted, started getting calls from above, people wanting things, willing to sell their souls to me to get it."

Sam shakes his head, "What, like some sort of demonic godfather? Please…"

"Believe what you want, Sam. I own the souls that I buy and I sell them for what I want. I made a deal with Lucifer, Sam…your power for your soul. As soon as the One sucks out your demonic gift and gives it to me, I give him your soul."

She turns as Dean comes up behind her, "Isn't that right, Dean?"

Lillith's head twist suddenly sideways, her neck snapped with a crack. Dean, his hands still holding her head, pulls her towards him and covers her mouth with his, sucking her essence up into him, devouring her power eagerly. He pulls away, licking his lips and whispers in the dead girl's ear, "You really think I was gonna keep my end of that deal, Lillith? Stupid little girl."

He smiles at Sam, "Delicious, Sammy." Sam's jaw tightens as the familiar nickname slides out of the monster's mouth, "You really should try s-"

His smile fades abruptly and anger slashes across his face as he grips the dead meat suit, snarling in her ear, 'You lying _BITCH!_ His soul's not _here_!"

With a growl, he starts to rip Lillith's body apart, pulling off an arm with brute strength, blood splashing onto his face.

Sam sees a rabid hunger rise up in Dean's eyes as the smell of the blood gets into his head and he bends his face down to bite into the girl's neck, tearing off a good size chunk and chewing delightedly.

Repulsed, sickened, Sam watches as Dean slurps loudly, ripping another piece off with his fingers and sucking out the juice, forgetting Sam is even there for precious minutes.

Suddenly, Sam is hit with something heavy, a large something that knocks him sideways and rolls him over. It's Bobby, who's up on his feet in an instant, urging Sam up, half-dragging him and they hit the ground running.

"GET THEM!" Lucifer rasps to his Son who drops the half-chewed corpse and snaps his fingers at the demons.

Before the minions can rise up to give chase, the sound comes to them, stopping them in their tracks, causing heads to crane skywards.

The flutter and flapping of thousands of wings can be heard, snapping through the air, kicking up the wind and swirling dust in the night. A light comes with the wind, growing in intensity as it moves, rolling towards the evil entities, lighting up the frantic darkness where the depths of hell are hiding, shining so bright it blinds, causing the demons to cover their eyes in pain.

The glow surrounds them, bathing them in pure white radiance, causing those that don't shut their eyes against it to burn up and they run, screaming through the streets, torches of human remains, to sizzle into puddles of cinder and ash. The others cover their faces, dropping down to cower in fear at the heavenly brilliance, the blinding glow that makes the shadows run and hide.

The angels have come.

*

Sam and Bobby skid into the foyer of the church and barricade the door hurriedly, using pews they rip from the sanctuary floor. Bobby points to the desecration, the splatters of blood, trailing on the floor to an opening off to one side, door hanging off its hinges.

Sam starts towards the door and Bobby grabs his arm, "Get the book!" and moves forward, wrestling the door back onto the jam and runs into the church, looking for something to barricade it with.

Bobby opens what looks like a closet and out falls the body of the priest, eyes glassy, staring up at him in surprise.

"Oh, shit" Bobby says and hauls him out, grabbing the bench he was sitting on and hustling back out into the foyer to shove it under the doorknob, locking in the Children.

He runs back to help Sam search the pew boxes, frantically looking for the name Gage on the signs. "Do those over there" he motions to Bobby and they both run from cube to cube, reading name plates.

"Got it!" Bobby yells, throwing open the church seat inside. Empty. Feeling desperately, he runs his fingers over the bottom, touching a small bump and pulls out his knife, using it to jimmy up the false bottom, finding the thick tomb hidden in the depths. He stuffs it under his arm and runs to meet Sam, who's thudding towards him.

Bobby points past the altar, "Go, Go!"

"Where?"

"Rectory, outside. I need to work the spell!"

Sam runs to the rear of the church, ripping open the back door to stumble down the stairs, Bobby close on his heels. Sam stops suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up,

"What?" Bobby runs past, turns back to look and cries, "Shit, Sam, MOVE IT!"

Sam turns and sees Dean walking towards them, slowly, calmly. Sam lurches backward, bumping into Bobby and the two of them watch as Dean suddenly stops to listens with a tilt of his head. He meets Sam's eyes with his demon ones and smiles at him, "I'll be back, Sam." and then turns, going back the way he came.

"What the hell?" Bobby says.

Sam exhales the breath he's been holding "Seems something more interesting than us is happening back that way. Maybe "Daddy" called him."

"I don't care what he's hunting, as long as it's not us. Come on." Bobby runs up the steps to the Rectory, where the parish priest lives, and jimmies the lock quickly, Sam keeping watch until they fall through the doorway into the absurdly quiet of the house, the sounds outside muted and far away.

Their eyes adjusting to the dark, they see they're in a large kitchen, with gleaming pots and pans hanging above an island in the center.

Sam pulls the drapes on the windows and Bobby flips the pages of the book, looking through it with a pocket flashlight while Sam hunts through drawers for silver weapons.

Finding the first one of two spells he needs, Bobby quickly pulls out a pack of small candles from his pocket, lighting them and setting them up on the table. He uses a wax pencil to draw the symbols he needs, working as fast as possible.

"Sam, I need a bowl with some water in it."

Sam sets it in front of him while Bobby pulls a small envelope from a shirt pocket and shakes black dust into the bowl, chanting the ritual on the page. He drops in wax from one of the candles, calling for sight. He holds the candle close to the water in the bowl and sees Pamela Barnes as she was before the False Prophet possessed her.

Bobby invokes the Naga, a willing spirit, calling the nymph to come forth and help them in their time of need. A face hovers in the candlelight, so faint that Bobby blinks his eyes, not sure of what he's seeing.

Tilting the bowl towards the Naga, Bobby whispers what he needs, showing the nymph the object of his request. He takes up his pocket knife, slicing off a lock of his own hair, offering it to the Naga as payment, to come due whenever the spirit wishes to collect. Bobby drops the hair in the bowl, the water bubbling madly around it and the Naga accepts the offering and disappears.

A second later, Pamela Barnes's face in the bowl, turns towards Bobby, seeing him.

Bobby mutters "We need you to find Dean. Reach him without the AntiChrist knowing. Tell him we're here and we're not leaving without him or you. Tell him to be ready and to take the chance when it comes."

Pamela nods her head at Bobby and the picture in the bowl goes dark.

Bobby pages through the book until he finds the other spell he needs and he reads it hurriedly aloud, both he and Sam memorizing it quickly. He shuts the book and shoves it down inside a cupboard.

"Let's go" Bobby says and then stops, "Sam, I don't know how this is gonna go down but just in case, well, I want you to know that I love you like a son, both you and Dean."

"Me, too, Bobby. Dean, too." Sam says, blinking back sudden tears. He takes a deep breath, "Ready?"

Bobby nods, "Let's go kick some ass."

Out they go into the night, sneaking along the side of the church, making their way towards the raging fires and flickering lights.

Sam suddenly remembers something "Bobby, why do you think Lillith thought she had my soul? Dean said it wasn't there but Lillith seemed pretty sure she owned it."

Bobby narrows his eyes, "Let's hope to Christ it has something to do with that power of yours. You better gear it up cause we're gonna need every bit of it to send Lucifer's demon ass back to hell."

Sam reaches the corner of the building and turns back to Bobby "Speaking of that, got any idea of how to do that exactly?"

"I'm working on it, boy"

"Just asking..." Sam pokes his head around the corner, staring into the fierce bright light, "Holy sh-"

"What is it?" Bobby asks, moving around to come alongside and Castiel flies at them, forcing them back.

"Cover your eyes!"

Bobby shuts his instinctively but Sam stares down at the angel, confused.

Castiel looks at him in amazement, "Sam, you can see. You can see us in our true form and not be burned."

Bobby snarls "Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? Can't you get them into some meat suits or something so I can help fight? I don't want to be blinded just because I looked at the wrong time."

Placing a hand on Bobby's eyes, Castiel concentrates intently, and when he pulls away, Bobby's eyes are amber, the same as the False Prophet's.

"Shit, Bobby!" Sam pulls back, fear slashing through him for a second.

"It is alright. It is a filter, nothing more and will stay for as long as he needs it to stay. Now he can gaze upon us and not be scarred."

"It's ok, Sam. Just looks like everything's yellowish. Otherwise, I can see fine."

"Cas" Sam asks hesitantly, "Has God got a plan yet?"

Castiel looks up at sadly, "There is no plan. The evil has won this battle. There is nothing else to be done."

"So we just give up?" Bobby barks, "I'm not ready to do that. We have to save Dean and Pamela."

"It is too late to save them. They are gone." Castiel mutters hopelessly.

Sam suddenly grabs him by the front of his jacket, swinging him up until they're face to face, noses almost touching, and bares his teeth at him, "Do you have any idea of what we've been through, what we had to do to get here? We're not giving up!"

"Put me down." Castiel stares down at Sam with glittering eyes.

Sam swallows hard and puts the angel back down. He looms over Castiel, shaking his head, "I'm not leaving here without my brother, Cas. You wanna give up? Fine. You go crawl away and let evil have the world. I'm gonna go save Dean."

Sam gives Castiel another scathing look and pushes past him, around the corner of the church and starts towards the battlefield. Bobby pulls down his hat and walks past the angel.

Castiel stops him with a hand on his arm, "You will die."

"Then we'll die. But at least we'll die trying. Now, let me go. I gotta go save my boys."

*


	10. Chapter 10

*

Castiel stares after Bobby and Sam, his eyes unreadable. He lifts his face heavenward, listens and nods, "Yes, Father, you were right. It seems they are heroes."

He turns with a sigh and follows them into battle.

*

There's movement everywhere, dark, shadowy figures that are barely visible through all the acrid smoke.

Sam can't see behind or in front of him. A shout to Bobby echos back at him, forlorn in its loneliness. His eyes burning, watering from the thick brimstone, he squints, seeing the figures writhing and twisting, like they're moving to a dark and twisted dance.

It's the angels. They're flying everywhere, some grappling with demons in hand to hand combat, others using holy weapons, impaling the evil with staffs and swords, still others using their hands to smite the demons down, burning the evil essence out of the meat suits. As far as his eye can see, he sees them, engaged in a horrific battle, fighting to the death.

A demon rushes towards him, his black eyes shining evilly and Sam puts out his hand, stopping the thing in its tracks.

Sam's eyes glitter as he gathers his power around him, sending out a giant _push_ towards the entity, causing it to retch and heave, black smoke coughing out into the night. He reaches out towards the demon entity, squeezing it in his hands and burning it up.

Someone walks slowly out of the night towards him, a shadow that stops just before the smoke clears, a few feet in front of him.

"Hello, grumpy." A voice, trying to be human, drawls at him. Sam puts out his hand towards the voice and Pamela Barnes walks forward, "I'm afraid that's not going to work on me, Sam."

Sam holds out his hand, staring at her with cold eyes, "Excuse me if I don't believe you." and focuses his mind, pulling the force from every part of his brain and shoving it forward, towards the entity with a huge _PUSH_.

Pamela throws back her head as the energy hits her body, surrounding her with an amber aura that glows in the dim light. She puts out her hands, holding them claw-like, gripping the amber light and throwing it away from her, back towards Sam.

Suddenly, a searing pain slashes through Sam's brain, blinding him with shooting stars and fireworks that burst behind his eyes. He screams in agony, gripping his skull and falling to his knees, his ears filled with the roar of blood rushing through his brain, his mind ripping apart, coming undone and he can do nothing but rock back and forth, cradling his shrieking head.

Precious seconds pass and Sam's body is rigid, trembling as if with seizure, and then-

The pain is gone as if it never was and he can see again. He feels the blood dripping from his nose and realizes he's bitten his tongue almost clean through. A low hum in his head start to build, intensifying as the deep layers of his mind swirl upward, coming together, building into a force that simmers just under the surface.

Slowly, Sam gets to his feet and turns to the False Prophet, who's grinning at him wickedly, knowing how badly she's hurt him. She shakes her head, "That was too easy, Sam."

He wipes the blood from his nose slowly, staring back at Pamela with vague eyes, his brain befuddled and slow.

From the corner of his eye, Sam sees a demon coming towards him fast and a surge of adrenaline shoots through his body. Without conscious thought, Sam flexes his mind, the force leaping up in him huge and frightening and the demon drops like a stone, the black smoke leaking out of its mouth.

The grin is wiped from the Liar's face in an instant, replaced with shock, surprise and a deep fear. She takes two steps back and Sam advances on her. Pamela suddenly turns tail and runs back towards Lucifer, giving one terrified glance over her shoulder as she goes.

_Shit, did that just happen? Where the hell did that come from? All he did was look at that demon and then...  
_

Confused, Sam rubs his forehead but there's no pain anymore, not even a twinge. If anything, he feels better than ever, stronger, more alive. Even now, Sam feels the intense energy working in his brain and he's changing, evolving, his power growing tenfold, then twenty until it's a bonfire inside of him. It slithers around in his brain, whispering to him, struggling to come to the surface and show its face to all. He grits his teeth against it, trying to push it down and deny its existence, even as he clings desperately to his own humanity.

His body shakes with effort to keep the dark at bay. He won't let it come forward. He can't!

All around him, the war rages on, angels flying around, wings snapping, smiting demons as quickly as they can, touching foreheads and pulling the evilness out of the meat suits by force. As Sam watches, demons are overpowering the holy warriors, because of the sheer number of evil beings. They're too many of them and not enough angels and the good guys are losing, losing badly and they need a leader to tell them to fall back, regroup and get a better game plan.

Gripped by a clarity he has never felt before, Sam knows what he must do. With a tired sigh, he stops fighting against himself and his own destiny. He lets his mental walls fall down, crumbling into pieces as the new powers gleefully burst through.

Sam lets himself Become.

Once loose, the power runs rampant through his mind, swirling into and onto itself, calling into the farthest reaches of his brain, pulling every tendril, every fiber of power towards the center, becoming huge and pulsing, filling his head and his body with a force that glows around him, a glimmer that vibrates like a second skin.

He pulls himself up to his full height and begins to walk through the fray, arms outstretched, staring straight ahead. As he moves, he pushes his power through his hands, fingers shimmering with the force of it and he barely needs to touch them, just needs to brush them with his fingertips and every demon he touches drops like a rock, hitting the ground heavy, smoky tendrils escaping from their noses and mouths, burning up with the aura coming from Sam's hands.

Sam sees Dean up ahead, standing next to Lucifer and Pamela, who's pointing at him through the smoke. They watch as he advances, taking down every demon he passes, leaving only silence in his wake, until he comes to stand in front of them. The demons, the ones still ahead of him, still living, rush to hide behind their Father, cowering under His wing of protection.

Behind Sam, the angels come, gathering around him, whispering among themselves, saying not a word but Sam can hear them talking to each other in his mind. He holds up a hand to quiet them and they fall silent, waiting for a sign to take action.

*

Bobby lost sight of Sam as soon as he rounded the corner of the church, the dense, black smoke making it impossible to see two feet in front of him. Pushing back his hat, Bobby crouches, running low to the ground, hugging close to the trees until he can see what's coming. He blinks and rubs his eyes, the heavy smoke making them blurry with tears, and sees a car in the parking lot that looks like the Impala. He moves closer and sure enough, it's Dean's car.

He crawls to it and eases open the door, popping the trunk, quickly going through the contents, grabbing items that are small and easy to carry, holy water, guns, talismans and then, with a triumphant cry, the demon knife which he quickly pockets, slamming the trunk shut.

He sees the girl grinning at him over the trunk as soon as he shuts it, standing there with black eyes shining. She throws herself forward and he barely gets the knife out in time, shoving it through her stomach and pulling up, gutting her. Sparks shoot from the wound and her meat suit collapses onto the knife. Bobby pulls it out and lets her fall, wiping it on his pants, moving quickly.

It's harder to hit a moving target.

Bobby helplessly watches the angels all around, fighting and losing, being overpowered, their own weapons turned back onto themselves, and they're dying horribly, painfully, screaming in agony as they are taken down by the tide of demons surrounding them. He sees a crowd of demons circle around one of the holy beings, and hears the horrible screaming as it's being torn apart by the evil entities surrounding it. He runs to help, swinging the knife in low, stabbing the nearest demon, dispatching it quickly and slashes at the next one.

The others surround him and now he's the one who's in trouble because it's three on one and Bobby can't stab them quick enough. They're taking him down and _son of a bitch_ if this is the way he's going out, it's way too early in the game to matter to anyone, and he's swinging wildly, kicking his legs but they heft him up off the ground and start to carry him away.

Suddenly, the angel he saved is a blur, touching two demons at once, the power in her hands mighty and quick and the evil ones stiffen, the black eyes burning out with white light and they fall, dropping Bobby heavily to the ground. He rolls away fast, jumping up and burying his knife into the third one's heart, sparks flying and body jerking, finally falling, lifeless, to the pavement.

Panting, he turns to face the angel, a woman with large eyes and long flowing hair, etheral and beautiful, her glow of glory surrounding her, sending a warmth over him like he has never felt before.

Anna smiles and reaches up to touch Bobby's cheek, holding his face for a moment before mouthing a 'Thank you' and turning to fly back into the battle.

Bobby watches her, still basking in her warm glow, smiling without knowing why. Behind him, he hears something big happening, some sort of commotion that's sending the demons around him running scared, scurrying towards Lucifer like rats in the sewer smelling fresh meat. What the hell?

Bobby can't think of anything powerful enough to be frightening to a demon because it seems they're not even scared of the angels now that their Father has risen. One of the evil sons of bitches runs by Bobby, turning to look behind him and Bobby grabs him, stabbing him in the heart without much thought, dropping the meat suit to the pavement before turning to look in the direction they're all running from.

What he sees has his jaw dropping on the floor.

It's Sam, arms outstretched, fingers splayed, walking with a steady pace towards Lucifer and as he moves, demons are dropping dead all around him. Sam's body is glowing, shimmering and his eyes...there's something wrong with his eyes. They're not demon eyes but they're piercing, glittering, shining with power.

Sam walks by him without even seeing, looking straight ahead at Dean, Pamela and Lucifer, striding towards them with purpose, with intention. Sam comes to a halt in front of the Unholy Trinity and dead silence fills the night. The angels are following Sam and the demons are hiding behind Lucifer and the war is at a standstill.

*

Bobby walks up next to Sam to stand by his side. Sam flicks his glance sideways and catches Bobby's, nodding at him to stay his ground. Castiel flies up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Sam and Uriel appears at Bobby's left. As one, they move forward, advancing on the Trinity until they are but a mere few feet away.

Lucifer starts to move forward but Dean puts out a hand, "Father, this one is mine."

With a smile, Lucifer drops back and Pamela steps forward, next to Dean. Face to face, they stand, waiting for the other side to make the first move.

Uriel stares at Pamela, hate and repulsion in his eyes. Pamela gloats at him, "Do I make you sick, Angel? Or do you secretly want to be like me? I don't have to try to avoid temptation, holy one, I _am_ temptation! Bow down before me and show me the respect I deserve!"

"I will never bow to such a vomitous mass such as you! I will send you back to the bowels of hell and you'll scream for God's mercy."

Pamela leans forward, baring her teeth at Uriel and snarls, "I said bow down!" and raises her hand towards the angel who staggers, struggling with an unseen weight on his shoulders and falls onto his knees, face twisted in rage at the manipulation of his body.

The psychic comes towards Uriel, moving to tower over him where he kneels before her and the angel grips his chest, choking and gasping as his heart is squeezed in an invisible vise. He starts to turn blue, eyes and tongue bulging out and his body is twitching, gasping for air and he's starting to lose consciousness.

Pamela is ripped backwards suddenly, thrown onto the pavement with a sickening thud.

Bobby helps Uriel up, the angel taking in great whoops of air.

Pamela staggers to her feet, her face bloody, nose broken and glares hatefully at Sam, "You'll regret that, Sam!"

Sam's eyes burn into hers as he reaches out to her, fingers outstretched, power humming in his hands. Pamela's body jerks as the force of it hits her and Sam pulls as hard as he can, straining with the effort. Her body dances as if electrified and the amber eyes staring back at Sam start to fade and then the color comes back into them, the Liar fighting desperately to stay inside the host. Soon, the eyes fade and don't come back and Sam is winning the fight, pulling the False Prophet out...

Suddenly, something hits Sam's face hard, snapping his head to one side and breaking his eye contact with the Evil Seer. She collapses to the ground, exhausted, the amber eyes blazing back. This round Sam has lost.

Sam slowly turns his head back to the front, his eyes full of hate, meeting the malicious stare of the AntiChrist, who shakes his finger at him with an evil smile, making a 'tsk, tsk' sound with his mouth, "I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

Dean waves his hand and Sam is hit hard with an invisible force, knocking the wind out of him but Sam doesn't go down, locking his legs underneath him so he can stand his ground against the assault. Frustrated that he can't get Sam to fall, Dean scowls at his brother, gritting his teeth on the words, "You _will_ go down, Sammy. Just a matter of time..."

Sam nods to Bobby, motioning to the angels to help him, "Take care of her." pointing to the False Prophet.

He turns his attention back to the thing that inhabits his brother, "I'll deal with this one. And by the way, asshole? My name is Sam."

*


	11. Chapter 11

*

The sound of beating wings fills the air, thumping a low rhythm that vibrates through the bones.

As soon as Sam gives the order to Bobby, the angels surrounding him take to the skies, the wind fluttering through their wings, flying ahead to kill off the demons that are left, battling with renewed energy to save whatever part of the world can be saved.

If the rest of the world looks like this place, there's not much left.

The strongest demons guard the Father, who waits, biding his time, letting his Son and Spirit do battle in his stead, unwilling to take away their glory in fighting for His honor. His power is stronger than even the mightiest of angels and he has no fear that evil will win the day in due time.

Until then, it is nothing more than a dance to see who can cause more death, more destruction and Satan is enjoying his ring-side seat, reveling in the suffering of the angels, feeding off the misery surrounding him, the screams of anguish like moans of passion to his ears.

Although the young Winchester coming to power was an unforeseen event, Satan still has no fear of him. He only needs to fear God and His Trinity and so far, the Prince of Peace hasn't made an appearance yet, content to let His minion angels do battle for Him. He imagines the Holy One quaking in fear at all that has been wrought on this day and Satan smiles in glee at the picture in his mind. Yes, Lamb of God, here is fear. Look on _me_ and tremble in _my_ glory, at _my_ power!

Through the protective circle of his mighty demons, Lucifer spies Sam, staring straight at him and smiling back, a triumphant grin that sends a cold hand down the evil Lord's back and his gleeful smile slips, falling off his face as an unfamiliar feeling sweeps over Satan, leaving him uncertain and confused.

He searches his memory to identify the sense of _coming_ that's skittering off his spine and finally, realizes that it's _fear_ and the Devil curls his lips over his teeth in contempt, denying it's existence, letting a pure rage wash over him, directing it at the smiling Winchester brat standing before him.

He bares his fangs at Sam and beckons his clawed hands. _Bring it on._

Sam's eyes look from Satan to Dean and back, his message clear. _Him first, then you._

*

Pamela backs up as the angels surround her and Bobby advances, "What do you think you're going to do against me?"

Bobby begins to intone a basic exorcism spell, splashing the False Prophet with holy water, scowling as she laughs and wipes off her face, "You've got to be kidding me! That doesn't work on me, hunter!" throwing Bobby backwards with a nonchalant wave of her hand like he's an annoying mosquito that's bothering her.

He hits the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him but doesn't pause, doesn't stop to breathe, just rolls over and up onto his feet again, ready to jump into the fight when needed.

The Liar's attention diverted for just that few seconds gives Uriel enough time to get behind her and he throws one arm over her chest, slapping his other hand to her forehead, and pulling backward, exposing her neck.

Before she can react, Castiel steps forward, pulling his angelic sword from under a fluttering wing and grabbing the back of Pamela's head, pressing the sword's sharp glittering tip to her pulsing neck vein.

Its ghostly aura penetrates her neck, touching the evil that runs through her veins and making her blood start to heat, her face and body diffusing with high fever, pulling a shriek from her lungs that rips the air with the pain of it as she struggles against Uriel's hold.

In another minute, if the evil doesn't leave the host, her blood will boil inside her body, bursting her blood vessels and causing a massive hemorrhage and Pamela Barnes, the psychic, will die.

"Watch out!" Bobby sees her hands come up, fingernails sharp like mini daggers, and she shoves her hands up into Castiel's stomach, slicing his flesh, slashing deep, skin tearing into ribbons, pieces hanging from him as Castiel's eyes bulge and a strangled cry bursts from his throat.

If his physical body dies, he must leave it and will no longer be corporeal, no longer able to fight other flesh and blood beings and will also be wide open to attack once exposed. The False Prophet can easily steal his grace unless he finds another host quickly.

To save himself, he drops the sword to grab the Liar's hands and Pamela's blood immediately begins to cool, her core temperature falling back to normal and her fevered brain no longer in danger of liquefying.

Bobby jumps up to help, yanking back Pamela's arms, pulling on her wrists, wrestling to get her claws out, get her off but he can't, her limbs like steel that Bobby can't budge and the angel's blood pours over his hands, red and warm and so much of it that Bobby can't see his own flesh anymore for the gore covering him.

"Get her out, she's killing him!", Bobby screams at Uriel and the big angel yanks hard, falling backwards and pulling the False Prophet with him, out of Castiel's stomach, onto Uriel's body and her fingernails drip blood and guts onto the ground.

Pamela's screaming, kicking against Uriel's grip on her, trying to twist around until finally, she manages to slash his face with her bloody claws and he's holding her hands, trying to contain the fury now lying on top of him.

Uriel yells for the other angels to come help but they're fighting their own battles and his screams are unheard, blending in with the rest of the shrieks in the night.

He is alone, with a wounded rattlesnake on top of him and getting bitten is only a matter of time.

Castiel falls to his knees, gripping his guts, intestines spilling into his hands, trying to hold himself inside. Bobby drops next to the wounded angel to help him but Castiel gasps, "Stand back!"

Bobby falls back, staring wide-eyed as the angel lifts his hand to the sky, throwing back his head and closing his eyes, calling out to his Father to help him in his time of need.

Castiel's hand begins to glow and pulsate, getting brighter and shimmering now with each breath of prayer his lips utter, until his hand is too bright to look at and Bobby shields his amber eyes against it. Castiel is trembling with the power in his hand as he brings it to his stomach, pressing it inside of him, moaning as his holy power heals the wound from inside out, gasping in pain as the skin is knitted back together, sewn by an invisible hand as Bobby watches in amazement.

Castiel holds himself stiffly, head down, panting with exertion as the wound finishes healing and the power leaves him, raising his head to give Bobby a weak thumbs up. Behind Bobby, he sees Uriel in mortal combat with the Prophet and motions frantically to the hunter "Help him!"

Just as Bobby turns to help the angel warrior, he sees the Prophet claw at the side of Uriel's neck, digging in deep with her fingernails until, with one swift movement, she rips his carotid artery out, slicing it in two and blood spurts up between them, splashing all over their faces.

Uriel's meat suit is dying fast and his eyes glow with his soul, with his grace, looking heavenward, bright light shining out and the angel's essence flows out of the dead body, through his eyes and mouth, and Pamela pulls his mouth towards her in a deadly kiss, trying to suck in the aura into herself.

Bobby comes up behind her, demon knife in hand, not wanting to kill Pamela but needing to save the angel. He looks back at Castiel, feeling like he's moving in slow motion, too slow to be much good to anybody and knowing he's too late to save Uriel now.

Castiel grits out, "Do it!"

Bobby tries to pull her up off the angel's dying body, stabbing her in the back, once, twice and then losing count, his hand jabbing her with the knife, but she refuses to loosen her grip on Uriel, latched onto his mouth with a ferocious hunger. With each plunge of the knife, her amber light shines out of each new wound, until, with a final shriek of pain, The Prophet drops the angel and falls backwards onto Bobby.

Castiel crawls over to her and slaps a hand to her forehead, while Bobby holds her down. Pamela's screams rent the air as the False Prophet is ripped out of her by Castiel's holy hand, the amber force in her eyes shooting out towards the sky, flying into the air with a burst of light.

With an unearthly howl, Lucifer reaches towards the evil essence, holding it shivering, shaking in the air until, with a twist of his taloned hand, he sends it through the sky, towards the church, forcing it back to the Children who guard the doorway. The Liar will be safe under their protection.

Pamela starts to bleed out from the multiple stab wounds in her back, gasping out a death rattle as a pink froth bursts out of her mouth, her lungs collapsing from the damage caused by Bobby's knife, her eyes hollow again, unseeing and empty.

Castiel motions to Bobby, who crawls backwards out of the way, and the angel reaches again to the heavens with a hand, praying to God to bless him with his healing power once more, and when his hand begins to vibrate, the glow shimmering in the night, he lays one hand across Pamela's eyes and the other on her chest.

Blind, in agonizing pain, Pamela grabs Castiel's hand in a panic, clawing at him, trying to wrench him off her eyes, not knowing he's trying to help, and the angel fights against her, gripping her face tightly, holding her in place until the blazing white light slides into the psychic and fills her, healing her.

The intense glow diminishes and fades until there's nothing left of it but a memory. Once Castiel releases his hold on her, Pamela opens her eyes and stares up into the gentle gaze of the angel's, her eyes whole and seeing again. The holy one who took her sight has now restored it along with her life.

She touches Castiel's face with wondrous fingers, studying it as if it's the most beautiful sight she's ever laid eyes on.

"Cas...Castiel??" she gasps and he nods. She touches her eyes and squeezes his hand, mouthing "Thank you", earning another nod from the angel.

Kneeling next to Uriel, Bobby yells, "Cas!" and when Castiel crawls over to him, Bobby moves out of the way so the angel can see Uriel's face, his eyes staring up into the sky, his blood pooled on the ground around his head, his body still in death.

"Is there anyway to save him?" Bobby asks the angel, tears in his eyes and Castiel shakes his head sadly, "I can't save this body and the Liar took his grace. Uriel is gone."

*

Pamela comes to kneel next to them over Uriel's body and Bobby puts an arm around her shoulders, "Glad you made it out, girl."

"You and me both, Bobby. Thanks for not giving up on me."

"Were you able to find Dean and give him the message?" Bobby asks hesitantly, not knowing if Pamela wants to remember.

She nods, "I told him what you said. He was so far under I don't know if he understood me but he is still in there."

"Good girl."

"Look, Bobby." Pamela holds her palm up for him to see.

"What is it?"

"The mark, the sixes…they're gone." She rubs her skin and it's true, the mark of the Beast is no longer on her. She is free.

*

Dean paces slowly in front of Sam, scratching the side of his head, a smirk slapped on his lips. He stops and looks sideways at his brother, "You know Dean's in here with me, _Sam_. He says I should kill you nice and slow."

Sam's eyes never leave his brother's as he snarls, "Don't you even dare say his name, you evil son of a bitch!"

The AntiChrist shrugs, "He told me you're not even human anyway so you deserve to die."

Sam narrows his eyes, "I hope you're enjoying that body 'cause you're not gonna be in it much longer."

Dean laughs out loud, "And how're you planning on getting me to vacate? 'Cause I'm not going anywhere without a fight." and he reaches out, flicking his fingers at Sam.

Sam is poked in the chest forcefully, invisibly and he takes a step backward from it. He smiles and brushes at it with his hand, "Is that all you got?" and pulses his power forward, giving Dean's shoulder a shove without moving a muscle.

"That's pretty good, Sam. But can you do this?" and Sam's face is whipped around by a slug to his jaw.

Sam tastes blood as he rubs his cheek, moving his mouth up and down, testing its workability. He turns back to his brother and licks the corner of his mouth, licks away the blood there. Dean's eyes gleam at the sight of it, a rabid hunger shining out of him.

Sam sees the feral look and taunts back "What? You want to taste some? Well, who am I to deny the AntiChrist anything?"

Sam jabs with his mind, snapping Dean's head back to one side and then the other. Before he can recover, Sam jerks his hand up and Dean is caught by the invisible uppercut that mimics Sam's movement.

It lifts Dean up in the air with the force of it and he flies backward, slamming into a thick tree trunk, head knocking hard against it then sliding slowly down to the ground.

Dean shakes his head to clear it and stands up, brushing off his jeans with exaggerated care. He wipes his mouth and sees his own blood on his fingers, chuckling, nodding his head, "That was a good one, Sam."

He touches his finger to his tongue, sucking the blood off, raises his eyebrows and spreads out his hands, "Pretty sure it doesn't taste as good as yours. Guess I'll just have to wait until I kill you and then I can drink as much as I want. I'll make sure it's still nice and warm when I drain you dry."

Sam lifts his head, his eyes glittering fiercely, "You aren't ever gonna get the chance, you son of a bitch!" And slashes with his mind again, tossing Dean backwards again, bashing him back into the tree, "'Cause I can keep this up all day."

Dean gets back on his feet, shrugging reluctantly, "I guess this means we're done talking. Too bad 'cause now I have to kill you."

He sweeps his arm up in a wide arc but before Dean gets his hand up, Sam pounces, knocking the AntiChrist to the ground, using his body weight to pin his brother to the pavement for precious seconds.

Crack! Crack!

The sound of Sam's fist connecting to Dean's chin fills his ears as he pounds one side of his brother's face and then the other, Dean's head whipping back and forth with each blow.

Two more blows earn a loud crunch from Dean's nose and blood gushes out, spraying into Sam's face and Sam bares his teeth in satisfaction at the damage he's done, pulling back to swing again.

And it's good, so good that Sam's _hurting _the evil bastard and he's going to make him pay in blood for what he's done to Dean.

Sam grabs his brother by the scruff of hair, pulls his head back and stares in his shining black demon eyes 'cause he wants to see the monster die in slow agony when he pulls him out of Dean's body, wants to see him burn up and scream with the pain, writhe in torment as he rips his damned soul out by the roots.

_You can't hurt me, Sammy. _

Sam scowls down into Dean's face, "Get the hell outta my head!" and flexes his mind towards his brother, reaching out with his power, into Dean's body, tendrils of light and strength, searching for the essence of the AntiChrist, the demon aura that holds his brother hostage.

Damn! Where are you?

_You're ice cold, Sam._

He feels Dean teasing him, mocking him, keeping parts of his mind closed up so Sam has to struggle to get inside and stay inside, frantically searching for the evilness, the black soul that took Dean from him.

_Getting warmer…_

It's like murky water Sam's looking through, thick and rancid and he feels the malevolence pervade his soul, seeping into the corners of his mind and knows he's getting close to the putrid wickedness living inside of Dean.

A turn of his mind, a burst of blood red splatter and suddenly-

_Red hot, Sammy. You're burning up!_

Sam comes face to face with _IT_ and his mind can't comprehend the evil he's happened upon, the fetid soul, the rancidness that stands before him and he wants to turn his mind away and never look upon such a stinking, foul atrocity again but he can't because it all rests on him, on his shoulders.

He is alone.

Sam is the one with the heart of the Lamb, demon blood and Savior, created with two paths of destiny, at a crossroads his whole life until this night, who's power and heart have come together to create a formidable opponent for the _other_ Son. Sam's not God's Son, but something else, something necessary, required, frail with humanity yet mighty with awesome force.

Sam is the only one who can comprehend the enormity, the gravity, the balance of the universe that is tipped and needs to be righted, the only one who can look and see, who can stand it but, God help him, he doesn't think he can look at it for long without losing what little sanity remains in him and all he can think is _Dear Jesus_, would you look at _that thing_-

_Found me! Ready or not, here I come!_

Sam loses his grip on Dean's hair, falling back in horror at the putrid evil he has witnessed living inside of his brother and Dean rises up in front of Sam, smiling into Sam's face, eyes glittering black pools of fury.

Dean swipes at the blood still dripping out his nose and grabs Sam by the shoulders, squeezing tightly, concentrating so hard his muscles are coiled like tight springs, lips twisted in a sneer of triumph and Sam feels something in his chest, a fist clenching inside his ribs, around his heart.

Dean sees Sam's heart in his mind's eye, sees it pumping out delicious life blood, strong and healthy, and reaches out with his mind, with two claw-like tendrils, wrapping around Sam's heart and squeezing tightly, twisting it like he's wringing out a wet rag, the blood pulsing out of it, trying to rip it out of his chest.

Sam coughs, gasps, pulling his power back into himself, grabbing the tendrils with his own force, struggling to get the polluted, phantom fingers off his heart, fighting to save himself now, wheezing with effort, trying to breathe through the pain searing through him.

Christ, the Lion is so strong!

He wrestles with Dean's mind, pushing him away with every bit of power he can stir up but Sam's hurt, weakened by this attack and he can't get Dean out of him, and the claws grip harder, pinching, constricting, strangling and Sam feels his head swirl with dizziness, and the pain screams at him suddenly as Dean begins to crush his heart.

Sam grabs at his chest, feeling his heart rate start to slow, the blood draining from his body as the pump to his life is squeezed to nothingness. Sam's eyes roll back, his whole body shaking and jerking, gasping and choking, rattling noises strangling out of his throat.

He falls over, onto his back, his body twitching now as muscles suffer from lack of oxygen, as he slowly, agonizingly, suffocates. Dean rises up in victory, leaning over to stare into his brother's face, making sure the last vision that Sam sees is that of his smirking, gleeful face.

_See, Sammy, I told you…you can't hurt me. I'm too powerful for you. _

Suddenly, Dean is slammed back, hit by a force so hard, so pure, it knocks the breath out of him and he looks around in shock.

An angel crouches over Sam. Dean can tell because of the holy stink rolling off it and he scrambles to his feet, backing up a few feet, just in case its foul glory should brush against him and contaminate him.

The angel's hand is on Sam's chest, glowing with a bright blinding light, trying to heal him.

NO!

The AntiChrist rushes forward and yanks the angel around by a shoulder. Long tangled hair, large eyes shimmering with unshed tears and mouth twisted in sorrow, the woman stares into Dean's lifeless eyes.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean frowns, feeling a surge of familiar, a tug of something different about this angel. He knows her, or at least his host knew her and intimately if he's reading the remnant right.

His lips twist into an evil smirk. "Anna."

*


	12. Chapter 12

*

"So you think you can take me on, Angel?" The AntiChrist's mocking voice carries through the air and Anna backs up a step, needing to finish healing Sam but unable to turn her back on the monster in front of her.

"Castiel!" She cries without turning, "Heal the Lamb!"

The flutter of wings behind her offers proof her order is being carried out.

"Give Dean back and we'll let you go back to hell where you belong." Anna offers softly.

A startled laugh, "You're trying to make a deal? Over this piece of meat? Why? What is he to you, holy witch?"

"Give him back or I will take him. If I take him, you will die. I will make sure of it."

Dean glares down at her in fury, "You threaten me? Do you know who I am?"

"You refuse the offer?"

In answer, Dean grabs her arm, his flesh crawling as he touches the saintly skin, pulling her close to him, face snarling into hers, "I'm not going anywhere."

He tightens his grip, baring his teeth at her, "But you are."

Suddenly, his hand is behind her head, fingers twisting into her hair, yanking her head back, exposing the soft milky neck, and he battens down on her, teeth sinking deep into her throat, piercing the skin and jugular, a splash of blood spraying into his mouth, sending his senses into overload and he loses control, his need for the taste of it overwhelming him, his eyes glowing with greedy hunger.

With a fierce growl, he drinks; lips smeared with heart's blood, slurping noisily as it pumps into his mouth, his head dizzy with the mix of strength and fear that fill his head and his mind.

Anna doesn't fight, couldn't get away if she tried but she doesn't try, simply hangs there, letting him drink his fill and when he finally jerks his head back, taking a whooping breath, raising his head towards the sky, his mouth dripping with her life force, she strikes, her hand coming up, fingernails at the ready and slices him across the face, across the eyes, trying to blind him.

Agonized pain rips into his cheek and eye and he screams, dropping her heavily to the ground, staggering backward, wiping his face with a hand, looking incredulously at the blood that stares back at him. Confused, still intoxicated with his feeding, his reaction time is sluggish, almost lazy. He holds out his hand to her, looking at her with a hurt expression, as if unable to believe that she would hurt him after they shared blood.

Anna lunges forward and slashes out again, across Dean's other cheek and eye, slicing ribbons with her nails, cutting him deep, blood dripping and his slowness is gone, the AntiChrist is back in real time and seriously pissed, rearing back his head, howling in pain, cursing her with every breath and he shoves her back away from him, bringing both of his hands together to concentrate his power into one force.

It surges out of him, a physical slash, an ethereal hand stretching out, towards the angel, penetrating her chest, jabbing into her with a fury borne of the Unholy Son's pain and rage.

She jerks back, her whole body lifting into the air, held there by the AntiChrist's powerful force, her muscles rigid as he searches her soul, reaching deep into her, giving a triumphant cry as he finds the glow surrounding her heart, pulsing with blinding light.

It's her grace, beating with her pulse, shimmering inside of her with innate goodness and beauty, white and pure, clean and whole and Dean grips it tightly in his ghostly fist, burning his mind because to touch such goodness, such purity with evilness such as his is an abomination, a tragedy that roils and seethes, bubbles and burns, swirling with fire and hate.

Anna's body jerks and dances as evil and goodness war for control inside of her, her grace and the Lion's blackened core fighting, trying to cast the other out. Each essence begins to consume the other, melding them together into a river of atrocity, of repugnance, trying to rip the other from existence.

Anna's human shell can no longer withstand the strain inside, her blood pressure rising to dangerous levels and suddenly, her cells begin to burst, all over her body, and she's bleeding out, hemorrhaging, blood erupting from every orifice, the gash in her neck gushing out to spill on the ground.

Dean yanks his mind out of her body at the last second, wrenching the grace out of her and holding it, glowing and pulsing, in his hand, shoving it into her face in triumph as she falls to her knees before him, her meat suit already dead, her angelic form dying fast.

With a tremulous gasp, Anna's heavenly spirit sighs, knowing the end is coming soon, shivering in the face of her dissolution, her annihilation, and she teeters on her knees, weakened, barely able to stay upright.

The AntiChrist watches her, laughing, taunting her with the grace he holds, knowing it is her only path to salvation and holding it just out of her reach.

_Kneel before me, angel! Die knowing that I am the End of Days, I am the Lion, I am the One who will rule over Hell on Earth! Die in awe of my majesty, my power, my glory! You have failed, angel. You will die knowing you have failed your Father._

Anna looks up at him, smiling in the face of her death and pushes forward a thought with her mind.

_Oh, but I haven't failed. _

Anna's angelic form moves with the speed of light, launching herself at Dean, flying through the air at him, grabbing the hand that cups her essence, pulling it from him and gripping it, hugging it tightly to her chest, flying into Dean's corporeal body, his frame jerking backwards with the force of the hit.

Once inside, she frantically searches him, grasping at memories, at dead dreams, probing into corners and shadows and finally, through a shroud of red, she finds Him, the Lion, feral and putrid, beckoning to her, challenging her to try to exorcise him.

She doesn't falter, doesn't wait because even a small hesitation will be the end of her, instead, she charges ahead, throwing her mind around the Evil One, enveloping him in her grace, swaddling him like an evil babe, wrapping the blinding light of goodness around his vile, unholy stench.

He screams at the pure light, the glory surrounding him sizzling into him, searing his soul with splendor, with righteousness, melting his skin, fusing to it and he struggles with the majesty of golden chains that hold him down. The more he fights to free himself, the tighter it wraps to him, cleaving him away from his host, isolating him, imprisoning his evilness in magnificence.

Anna grips one of her hands tightly, holding onto the rest of her grace and he sees her clutch it, sneering at her, lips twisted in an evil slash as he claws at her and at himself, trying to wrestle the grace that isn't covering him from her hands. He knows he can send her into oblivion if he can just get the other part she's holding, but when he finally wrenches her palms apart, he sees nothing and for a few precious seconds, he is surprised, unable to move.

Anna seizes the moment and grabs him, yanking hard, once, twice, and with a mighty jerk, they emerge, Angel and AntiChrist, both shimmering specters, flying out of Dean's body and smashing onto the road behind him, both fighting for power, both trying to rip the other apart.

The grace has been separated, one-half enveloping the AntiChrist, the other half still inside of Dean, working it's way into the memories, the lost hopes, the forgotten dreams, those pieces of Dean that had made him so willing to torment in hell, healing, knitting, reawakening the promises, the love that is so well hidden inside of him.

Dean is left, an empty shell, on his hands and knees on the ground, sweating, trembling, retching with dry heaves, body shaking, muscles twitching, shell-shocked, the look on his face scared to death, not knowing where he is or who he is.

Bobby runs to Dean and drops on his knees next to him, pulling the confused young man into his arms and hugging tightly, holding on when Dean tries to struggle away, murmuring soothing sounds against the boy's head and squeezing his own eyes shut against sudden tears, "I got you, son. I got you."

Lucifer bursts out of his circle of protection, reaching out towards Anna with a clawed hand, gripping her across the distance, holding her so the AntiChrist can get control and take her down, take her out.

Satan bares his fangs at the angel, snarling as he shoots his power at her and she turns, hit suddenly, falling to the ground in agony, being battered into the pavement by invisible blows, writhing in pain until, finally, she moves no more.

Death takes the angel quietly and Anna's soul is welcomed back into her Father's home, the King of Kings eagerly awaiting her return to heaven after her unselfish sacrifice. Her specter rises above, twisting and spinning, lifting high above them all, carried in the gentle palm of the Finisher and she is brought Home for good, the other angels watching her ascension with awe and reverence.

Below, Lucifer is blasted with an immense _PUSH_, the force of it shooting daggers that penetrate his mind, making his body twist and jolt with the painful echoes. Sapphire eyes go wide, looking for the source of the enormous power and there is Sam, fresh from being healed by Castiel, stalking forward to stand directly in front of him, daring him to respond, and drawing the devil's attention away from Dean and away from the others.

Lucifer's wrath will be brought down on him and him alone.

The evil voice filters into Sam's mind._ You dare to challenge me?_

Sam reaches forward and beckons with one hand, _Show me what you got._

Sam looks back just once, tossing an order over his shoulder to the angels waiting there, "Kill the AntiChrist!"

They surround the Evil One, falling on him with their holy weapons, spearing and stabbing, hammering and pounding until he's screaming out in fear and pain, bewildered at how quickly he fell from power.

"Father, Help me!" his voice, once so majestic, so powerful, is tremulous and weakened by the grace wrapped around him.

His essence begins to shimmer and fade, his power pushing at the angels, desperately trying to keep them at bay but he cannot, there's too many of them and his power is sapped, drained and the holy warriors keep coming, surging forward, ripping the Lion to pieces until there's little left of him and what is left can be ground underfoot and returned to the wind.

"NOOOO!!!" Satan's unearthly shriek, high-pitched and desolate, rends the air, shattering car and house windows, glass exploding everywhere and Bobby and Pamela clap hands over ears, trying to stop their eardrums from bursting.

Even Dean reacts, grabbing his throbbing head, rolling away from Bobby into a fetal position, curled up on the pavement, as he tries to protect his ears from the impossible keening.

Sam looks around, surprised to see the others in such agony at the tone of the high decibel sounds. It doesn't hurt Sam at all but he has to stop it because he must protect the humans.

He reaches out his force towards Lucifer, slashing his hand in the air and abruptly, the sound stops and Satan grabs at his throat, evil eyes bulging as he struggles to scream and he cannot.

"Be quiet." Sam growls.

_You, a mere mortal, dare to silence me!_

Lucifer roars, his power erupting, shooting a fireball out of his mouth, engulfing Sam in a haze of flame, burning his flesh and trying to melt his soul out of his body. Sam stands erect, ablaze, arms outstretched, face and body sliding together as he burns.

"Sam!" Bobby runs forward and Lucifer slashes out, knocking him back onto the pavement, continuing to hold Sam as he burns, flesh smoldering and sparks rising into the air above the flames.

Sam doesn't cry out, doesn't make any noise except the sizzle and pop that comes from his burning flesh and the sickening sweet odor of blackened skin fills the nostrils and turns the stomach.

Everywhere is silence, the angels, Bobby, Pamela and Dean all watch in silence, holding vigil around Sam's body, the darkness of what's happening gripping them, bringing every thought, every action to a dead stop, breath held, fear numbing their senses, waiting…

Suddenly, the fire goes out and Sam is there, whole and unburned, not a mark on his skin, as if he was never touched by flame.

_No, that's impossible! _Lucifer denies what his eyes can plainly see.

Sam takes a step forward and PUSHES all of his power at Satan, slapping the Dark Lord backwards and holding him easily. Thunder rolls overhead and Lucifer raises a hand to the sky, twisting his wrist with a quick snap, hitting Sam with such force the younger Winchester is knocked off his feet and sent reeling back and before he can recover, a mighty wind rises in front of him, funnel cloud twirling and twisting, enveloping him in its fury and beating him backwards.

Sam is unable to get his footing in the screaming wind and falls to his knees, struggling to get back upright.

_Kneel down before your new Father and embrace the evil that's within you._

Sam's body is rigid, holding himself tensely, fighting the wind back with his mind but it's too strong, and he can't do a damn thing with the weight pressing him down.

"Never!" Sam shouts into the gale, trying to get his aura back around him but it's swirling in the wind and he can't get up, even though he sees the evil son of a bitch advancing but Sam can't _move_ and damn if he's going down like this, not even a blaze of glory but freaking _wind._

Lucifer comes closer, sneering at the Lamb's weakness_. Your God! The Great I Am! Where is your Messiah now? He leaves you all suffering here while he watches. He sends a boy to do a man's job._

Satan leans in tight,_ I'm gonna kill you nice and slow, Sam Winchester._

With a strangled cry, a blur of movement jumps in between Sam and Lucifer, catching the evil Father by the shoulders and spinning Him around, using the momentum to swing the Destroyer in another half-circle, whirling close to one of the giant fissures that the Apocalypse opened, the flames still licking and shooting up around the edges, the hell fires still blazing eternally.

The figures teeter precariously on the edge of the opening and Sam sees who it is, hears the scream first in his mind and then bursting out of his throat, terror in his heart, "DEAN, NO!!!"

Dean doesn't even try to push Satan into the pit. Nope. Doesn't even try.

Instead, he stares straight into the face of the Dragon, the most vile of all evil and screams out into the night, into the face of the Reaper, "Look at _me_, you evil bastard! I'm the one that's sending your ass back to hell!"

Dean gives one final pull with his arms, swinging the fetid wickedness around in front of him and jumping forward, using his body weight to carry the Serpent over the edge, diving down into the flames, the fires of eternal torment, dragging the Evil One back home where he belongs.

Both figures disappear over the edge, into the dark pit below.

*


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** I know it's been a long time coming but life's busyness has a way of taking over and taking charge. For anyone still waiting and caring enough to read, here's the ending in all of it long-winded glory. If you enjoy, please grace me with a review to let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading :D

*

*

The splendor of a King,  
Clothed in majesty  
Let all the earth rejoice,  
All the earth rejoice

He wraps himself in light,  
And darkness tries to hide  
And trembles at his voice,  
And trembles at his voice…

-Chris Tomlin

*

*

Dead silence. Nothing moves. Air sucked out of the night.

Flames flick and bend in slow motion, sparks taking their time wafting upward.

Sam sees Bobby turn towards him sluggishly, mouth opening and words coming out deep and drawn, incomprehensible, dragging through the air with difficulty and Bobby is motioning haltingly with an arm towards the hole where Dean disappeared.

Sam's eyes move back to where Bobby is pointing, seeing every second, every moment with perfect clarity, noting the position of each angel, frozen in time, catching a glimpse of Pamela, shouting soundlessly, mouth gaping wide, a hand to her throat, and then onto Castiel, who is staring back at him with an intensity that Sam doesn't understand, like he wants Sam to do something but Sam can't get his brain to work, can't figure out what it is he's supposed to do. Castiel's mouth moves, forming words, but not a sound reaches Sam's ears in the vacuum surrounding him as he struggles to understand what just happened.

Dean. Dean is gone. Back to hell.

Over Sam's dead body.

"NOOOOOOO!" Sam hears someone screaming in his head and suddenly, he's back in real time and his throat is bursting with pain as another shrieking "NO!" rips out of his gut.

Two lumbering steps takes him to the gaping hole and then he's diving, head first, down into the pit, hands in front of him like he's freaking Superman or something, free-falling into hell, his only thought to save his brother.

Not again, not again. This isn't going to happen again!

Fire slaps at his skin, licking and tasting his flesh, straining to consume, to devour all of him and he slaps as it burns his hair and skin. The smoke of brimstone and his own charred flesh clogs his throat, ripping at his mouth and lips, gagging him as he chokes on it, squinting ahead in a blaze so bright it's hard to see and it seems like he's falling forever, for eternity.

Time slows as he plummets, becoming hell-time, and he thinks _four months is like forty years_ and he can see each crack, each crevice in the earth around him, noting absently the claw marks dragging down the wall and once they stop, realizing that Lucifer had tried to stop his own headlong descent and Dean had dragged him back into space, making sure the bastard never made it back up to earth again.

_Dammit, Dean! You shoulda let me handle things. How am I supposed to live with you saving my ass and going back to hell again? No way, dude, not this time. This time, I'm getting you back. You're not sacrificing yourself for me or anybody else, ever again. This time, you're going to live._

"SAM!"

Sam dips his head, looking behind him and sees Bobby, coming down fast.

*

Talons claw along the dirt, scrabbling and scratching, dragging down, sapphire eyes full of hate and rage, meeting murderous green ones.

"You're not going anywhere but back to hell, you son of a bitch, right on the express elevator!" Dean pulls at Lucifer's wrists, yanking him away from the walls, trying to wrestle his arms down to his sides so they fall faster.

"Let me go!" Satan slashes at Dean's face, reopening the cuts from Anna's nails, blood flowing down, splattering them both.

"Only when you're good and dead, you sick bastard!" Dean grapples with the Dark Lord, wrapping his legs and arms around the evilness and they plummet faster, flying like a bullet into the dark fires of hell.

*

Just as Sam looks back at Bobby, a haze covers over him, black and murky, making it impossible to see because it surrounds him and the walls on each side of him fade away, the roar of fire growing louder and now screams fill his head so shrill, his eardrums feel like they're close to bursting. He tries to slap his hands over his ears but it takes forever to get them there, like he's moving under water and pulling them up through a heavy, thick curtain. When Sam finally manages to flatten his palms against his ears to shut out the desolate howling, the maniacal crying and the shrieking, he's close to madness with the noise of it all.

God, he's so thirsty.

Suddenly, time speeds back up and catches up with Sam and he's hurtling down, arms and legs pin-wheeling out of control, coming in too fast and he hits hard, belly down, spine crashing forward onto the hard terrain, breath knocked out of his lungs.

Dream-like he raises his head. Holy crap, he's alive, uninjured, in pain, but still alive. Sam groans, getting stiffly to his feet, looking around at his first glimpse of hell.

Christ, he's so frigging _thirsty_.

Bitter smoke curls around him, swirling and hanging in the air, making it impossible to breathe, the stench of death, ripe and festering, cloying in its heaviness, and Sam coughs, trying to hold his breath, staring with wide eyes at the figures that walk the horizon as far as the eye can see.

So many of them…so many damned souls…

They're everywhere, burning, twisting, writhing in flames, in agony and eternal torment, mouths split open to scream soundlessly, vocal chords and tongues gone, either burned away or cut away from torture on the rack, faces stretched and melting from the heat, bodies charred, seared chunks of flesh dropping from their bones.

The ground sways and rolls under his feet and when Sam looks down, there are faces in the dry, dusty earth, moving and swirling under him, faces that melt into bony skulls, eye holes gaping, jaw bones unhinged and shrieking with pain and fury.

Craters and dunes stretch into eternity and a feeling of overwhelming despair takes over Sam, fills his heart and mind and for a moment, he's overcome, dropping to his knees and weeping without even knowing why, retching into the faces under his hands and knees and they scream at him, insane with their suffering, enraged and hating.

Sam feels every emotion, every shriek of agony that they do, feels it throbbing through his hands, seeping into him when he touches their faces. He is connected to them and he knows desperation, fear-

Hopelessness. There is no exit, no finish, no end to this. There is no hope.

Sam's mind begins to fragment, his power spreading and thinning, and a thought in his mind repeats over and over, _Coming undone, coming undone…_

Thirst, God, he thirsts…

His throat burns with it, mouth parched, lips numb, and he can barely swallow. It steals his voice and Sam feels his vocal chords may snap like dry twigs if he tries to speak. He can't even scream out his terror.

He feels himself slipping away and knows that in a few seconds, he'll be lost for all eternity, lost in hell, no use to anyone, just a glimmer of memory in the mind, and frantically, he begins to claw at his blistered, swollen face, needing the sting of pain to bring him back to himself. He rips and tears, pulling deep scratches through his skin, blood coming fast, dripping onto those desperate souls beneath him and they open their mouths wide, trying to catch the drops, desperate for anything to quench their insatiable thirsts.

"Sam!" He hears a voice from far away, calling his name but it's too far back, lost in the screams of the sorrow beneath him and he starts to slip away, the pain not helping anymore, the pull of insanity too much to resist and his mind turns towards the edge, towards the black hole that will suck him in and devour him.

*

"Sam!" Bobby grabs him up, yanking him to his feet and pulling him away, hugging him close, holding him up because Sam's knees give out and he drops like a stone. Bobby sags under Sam's weight but doesn't let go, only tightening his grip and whispering in his ear, "I got you, boy…I got you."

*

Sam fights against weight holding him down, the shrieks in his head overpowering him and he can't think, can't feel or function with this heaviness laying against him. Snakes appear, hissing and twisting around his arms, his neck, choking him under the load of them and he lashes out, connecting with something solid.

No hope, no hope…

A grunt penetrates his mind and his brain grasps at the human sound, the only sane noise in his head and he focuses on it, clinging to it for dear life and his vision swims in and out, hearing the voice again, close to him now. "Sam. Sam. Come on, son, snap out of it."

Sam's head begins to clear and he comes back to himself, realizing he's on firm ground again, no souls underfoot, no screaming thirsting mouths to feed and the despair moves to the back of his mind, breathing becomes easier and he can see again, think again. His power comes flowing back into his mind, into his body and his legs, although shaky and tentative, can now bear his weight and he sees Bobby in front of him, and Sam's hands are twisted in Bobby's shirt, holding on tight.

Bobby's amber eyes look into his, "Sam? You with me?"

"Bobby? Yeah, I'm-Yeah" Sam breathes deep, the rest of the cobwebs flying away, "Thanks, man, I don't think I'd made it if you hadn't pulled me off them…"

"Pulled you off what?" Bobby looks puzzled.

"The faces." Sam gestures, and when Bobby looks back at him like he's lost his mind, asks "Don't you see them? They're right there!"

"I don't see anything, Sam. What faces?"

"The damned souls. I was kneeling on them and they were screaming…it must be your angel eyes, you can't see them."

"Are you better now?"

At Sam's nod, Bobby looks around, "You seen Dean or Satan?"

Sam feels a dark laughter bubble up inside his gut at the insane question and pushes it down because Bobby will think he's gone mad if he lets it out. He shakes his head wordlessly, still fighting against the despair that's at the edges of his vision, threatening to overwhelm him if he lets his guard down.

Bobby puts out his hands, "Then we'll have to use the amulet. Do you remember the spell?"

Sam nods, grabbing hold of Bobby's hands with his own and they close their eyes, reciting the incantation they learned in the church rectory, focusing all of their conscious thought on Dean's amulet, on Dean's soul.

**"Exhibeo lux lucis, Exhibeo animus quatenus pullus nox noctis no teneo. Pro I oro, Exhibeo prognatus, laus tutis unus."**

A sudden gust of wind, swirling dust and old bones into a funnel cloud surrounds them, tearing at their clothes and hair and they struggle to hold onto each other, being pushed and tossed by the gale and it sweeps past them. The storm circles wildly towards the valley before them, towards the beacon that erupted seconds before, a light so bright it burns the eyes.

Sam squints at it, holding his hand up before him to shield himself from the intense shine but Bobby stares straight at it, his angel-given eyes protecting him.

"Let's go!" Sam urges and they run towards the light, towards Dean.

*

Dean's eyes, feral and rabid, dart back and forth, scanning the landscape for a hint of movement, a dust cloud, anything that will help him find his prey. He runs, low to the ground, searching…

He lost Lucifer when they hit, the dark Lord rolling away and shimmering into thin air as soon as Dean was knocked loose. He's got to find him, cage him or kill him so that fissures will close and hell will be sealed again.

But where? Where would Satan hide? And why? Why not just take Dean out? It's not like Dean has the power to stop him yet Lucifer chose to run. Why?

He rubs his face, wiping away most of the caked blood and realizes he feels different inside. Completely different. Like he's not Dean Winchester, at least not the man he was before the AntiChrist took him over.

Where is that awful pit of hopelessness that's gnawed at his guts since he came back from hell? Where is that guilt, the brokenness of never being good enough, of always letting people in his life down? Where is his old soul?

An odd flicker tingles on his spine and he searches his mind for the old weights, the old hurts and he finds them, still there as always, but when he pulls them down and looks close, the sting of them is gone, the cold slither that's always been wrapped around his heart missing, the worthlessness and the rage that often overwhelmed him misplaced, lost and he feels the odd pull of melancholy.

His soul may have been tarnished and old but it was all he had, it was his and he misses it somehow.

This new heart, unchained, unbroken, free of pain is foreign and he's out of synch with himself, not knowing if he can even kill anymore, not sure he wants to. He remembers the hate, the murderous lust in his heart but the emotion, the thrill of it is gone. Dean needs to be hard as nails, grim with determination and not swayed from his duty.

He needs to hunt and kill Satan.

Dean remembers it all, when he was possessed by that evil thing, watched it through a hazy lens, unable to stop a damn thing from happening and his mouth is foul with the old taste of blood and flesh. His stomach rolls and quakes and Dean feels it coming up, hurriedly pushing the images and memories away, swallowing hard against the bile, against the vomit that roils just under the surface, ready to spew if he lets it.

When this is over, when Satan is dead or caged, he'll let himself remember it all and he'll try to deal with all the horrors that happened at his hands, because of his existence. Now, however, there are more pressing matters.

A flicker at the corner of his eye catches his attention. There's something there, in the murk and dust, movement, a figure, now two, silhouettes lit by fire raging behind them, one tall, one short. He hunkers close to the ground, hiding as best he can. They're walking right towards him, like they see him but that's not possible. They're too far away and it's dusty, hazy, darkness and shadows and there's no way, no way they can see him.

But they do.

What the hell?

*

They run through the dry parched earth, Sam taking out every demon that stands in their way, quickly, efficiently dispatching them with a touch, even as he pulls Bobby along behind him.

Bobby is feeling the pull of hell now, fighting against the despair that's nearly overwhelming Sam, so Sam keeps him moving, thinking if his feet don't stay in one place too long, Bobby will be able to keep the desolation, the hopelessness at bay.

The insidious malevolence in the air creeps around the soul, grasping at it, trying to dissolve all goodness, all light and Bobby's alternately crying and laughing with the madness that threatens his mind.

Sam is just trying to hang onto the one sane thought he has.

_Find Dean, find Dean_.

"Dean!" Sam shouts through the hopelessness that shrouds him, telling Dean they're coming, dragging Bobby through the dust and wind, holding on tight so they don't lose themselves, lose their minds in this God-forsaken place, "Almost there, Bobby. Just hold on a little bit longer. Dean!"

*

He's on the move, zig-zagging through the rocks and dead brush, keeping the figures in sight but staying hidden, crouching low to the ground. If he keeps running, they can't pinpoint his position and find him before he finds Satan.

He hears Sam's voice and shakes his head, sure he's delusional, dreaming and hears it again and he squints against the dust and wind, staring hard at the tall figure, recognizing that slump-shouldered loping walk, that shock of hair and-

His eyes move to the shorter figure, hat, beard…Bobby! But, his eyes are wrong and Dean tenses, wondering if Sam's been captured by the Bobby-thing, but it looks like Sam is helping Bobby, pulling him along and he senses no evil from them, only fear and anguish rolling off them in waves, both falling down under the weight of it.

He takes in deep breath and makes his decision, standing up to reveal himself and yelling back, "Sam!"

The two figures break into a run, bee-lining towards him and he's caught up in a bear-hug that he never saw coming, Sam picking him up and swinging him around, holding him so tight he can't breathe.

"Jesus, Dean, thank God we found you!" Sam breathes into his ear and puts him down to look at him, hands going all over him to make sure he's not hurt or bleeding. Used to be Dean took care of Sam, not the other way around. Sam sounds like he's fighting tears "Is it really you in there?"

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me. At least I think it is. What the hell are you doing here?" Dean pulls away, looking up at Sam's face with a scowl, "You followed me?"

"There was no way I was going to let you sacrifice yourself for me again, Dean."

"Of all the stupid-" Dean looks at Bobby in disgust, ready to rip into him and Sam both, "And you helped him come here?"

Before he can say another word, he's caught up in another tight hug from Bobby, who pulls back quick and pushes against his shoulder, voice gruff, his voice tear-filled as well "Good to see you, boy. Damn good to see you."

"What's up with the eyes, Bobby?"

"Cas helped me out so I wouldn't get burned blind when I looked at the angels. You've missed a lot, son. You were gone for a bit. What do you remember?"

"Everything, Bobby. I was way back inside but I saw it all. I can't-" Dean stops, swallowing hard, unable to speak with the horrors still stuck in his memory, and helplessly shakes his head "I just can't, not right now."

Sam puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard, "I know, Dean..." and he looks at Bobby, who nods, "We both do."

Dean puts a hand on Bobby's shoulder, "You ok? You look kind of desperate."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Bobby takes in a deep breath, "It's the air down here, Dean. It wants to suck out my soul and eat me alive. No hope." His eyes narrow, "Actually, since I hugged you, I'm better. I don't feel like I'm losing my mind anymore. That's weird."

Sam nods, "Me, too, Bobby. It's like it never was. What the hell?"

Dean shrugs back at him and gives Sam a narrowed look, "You shouldn't be here, Sammy. How the hell am I supposed to get you back up topside? And you, Bobby? You're the one who told me I was itching to throw myself into the pit. What about you, huh? Now I gotta worry about the two of you as well as Lucifer!"

"Dean, we can help."

"How, Sam? You got something that can kill Satan? 'Cause up there it looked like you were losing."

"I can hold him-"

"Great, that'll help for about five minutes!"

Sam finishes calmly "-While you kill him…"

Dean says sarcastically, looking incredulously from Bobby to Sam, "What, just like that, huh? You hold him and I'll kill him. No problem, Sam. Now, you do have a way for this killing to happen? 'Cause you should really clue me in on it."

Bobby looks confused but he, too, seems oddly calm, just like Sam. Dean's fleeting thought is that both have gone off the deep end and are hanging onto sane by a short, brittle thread.

"Actually, Dean, you're the only one who can do it. You've got an angel's grace inside you. Anna left it there when she pulled the Beast out of you. I could see it inside of you, working in you, knitting you back together. It takes an angel to kill an angel."

"Ok…" Dean's not getting it but the light's dawned for Bobby, who nods at Sam.

"Sam's right! Lucifer is nothing but an angel. He was cast out of heaven by God and sent to hell with all of his followers because he thought he was better than man! That's how he became the Dark Lord! He's no God. He's just a freaking angel…a powerful kick-ass angel but still…that's all he is!"

"So, I can kill him?" Dean still scowls at them, "But I don't know how to use it or control it and I got no time to learn. So, now what?"

Sam and Bobby look at each other, at a loss.

Sam shrugs, "Hopefully, when the time comes, you'll just know."

"And how the hell are we supposed to find Satan? I lost him when we hit and haven't been able to spot him since." Dean throws the question at them and Bobby responds this time.

"Your grace, son."

"What?"

Bobby takes a deep breath, "An angel can always find another angel. You have the light inside you. If we can figure out how to get you to shine, you'll show us where he's hiding. The amulet you're wearing may help. When I gave it to Sam to give to your Dad, it was to protect him from possession. It's also a beacon of light that can show the wearer his true goodness. That's how we found you. Maybe, I don't know, hold it or something and concentrate?"

Dean asks, "Why didn't you tell me before that I'm wearing a angel glow-stick?"

Bobby rolls his eyes at Dean, "'Cause you didn't need to know before, ya idjit."

Dean and Sam exchange looks and Sam pipes up, "Bobby, will I throw off its mojo if I'm close? I let my demon power loose so aren't I pure evil now?"

"Sam! Don't even-" Dean starts to snap and Bobby cuts him off.

"No, son, you're not evil. In your gut you know what you are and you became what you needed to-to save us all. You were God's best kept secret, Sam, his most powerful weapon against all this and you did everything you were supposed to do."

Bobby nods at Dean, "Go ahead, Dean. Try it."

Dean grips the amulet around his neck tightly in his fist, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing his mind on finding the grace inside him. Nothing. He clears his mind of everything else but one thought, _find the grace, find the grace._

Frustrated, he tries again, searching for light, for radiance and ends up with an image of Anna popping into his head. Great, this is going nowhere…

Suddenly, he hears a gasp out of Sam and he opens his eyes, "What?"

Bobby motions to him, "You're glowing, son."

Dean looks down at himself and holy crap, he is, lit up like a frigging Christmas tree and as he watches, a bright trail of light rolls from him and slides along the ground, twisting and twirling along the dust, leaving a trail of frozen tundra in its wake. The three stare at the icy path laid before them, all realizing at once that it's a road to follow, one that will lead them to the final confrontation, the showdown with Satan.

They burst into a run, following it before it disappears.

*

Satan leaves his shimmer on so as not to be detected. He knows what Dean is and what Dean can do. A warrior of old, he weighs his options and the best recourse at this moment, until he can figure out how to kill Dean, is to hide.

The old hunter he can take down with a flick of his talon and the younger one, the half-demon, strong as he is, is easily swayed if his brother or friend is in danger and he can be brought down the instant his focus wavers.

Dean, however, is the One who is the most dangerous to his existence. Dean not only has an angel's grace in him but he also has righteousness which means he will kill with grim determination, with no recriminations, simply because he must. He won't second guess or try to find another way. He will murder without blinking because it is just, necessary and that makes him the most challenging of foes.

*

"I don't see him!" Bobby yells over, searching around where the ice crystals have melted back into the earth.

"Me either-" Sam is on the other side of Dean, searching the landscape frantically.

Dean, his glow faded now, stands, dead calm and alert, eyes moving rapidly, flicking over the dead land before him, fists at the ready.

Bobby suddenly gives a yell and he's hanging in mid air, suspended by nothing, legs kicking futilely in space.

Something stirs next to him and the air twitches and trembles, taking shape and form and then Satan is there, sapphire eyes staring straight into Dean's, holding Bobby up by the shirt collar with a hand, the other at his throat, talon extended, ready to slice the flesh wide open.

"Bobby!" Sam rushes forward without thinking and Satan gives a twist of his head, throwing Sam backwards into the rocks behind him, banging him hard against them and knocking the breath out of him. Sam sinks to the ground, shaking his head to clear it and holding his chest in pain.

Dean moves so fast, he's a blur, and he's standing between Sam and the Dark Lord, protective, a vicious snarl on his lips, his eyes filled with a cold hatred and he flicks his head towards Bobby, voice toneless and old, "Let him go."

Lucifer scraps his sharp claw along Bobby's skin, drawing a bead of blood, and smiles gleefully at Dean, "I think not."

Bobby kicks against the hand holding him, "Kill the son of a bitch, Dean! Take him out now!"

The Master pulls Bobby near, "Oh, but if he is unsuccessful, you all die. That is what he's thinking now, is that not right, my son?"

His lip curling, trembling with the rage that suddenly fills his heart, Dean grinds out slowly, succinctly "I am not your son, you evil bastard!"

Satan gives a "tsk, tsk" before shaking his head slightly, "You didn't feel that way when you were down here last time, child. You were so grateful to me when I gave you drink, when I gave you food. You pledged your love to me. And now you've left me for your other _family_."

The Evil One almost spits the last word out and turns back to Bobby, asking, "But you're not blood, are you, hunter? No, you've no Winchester in you so you're no longer necessary here."

He starts to dig into Bobby's neck, deep, just under his ear, aiming for his artery and Bobby grabs his arm and slices into it with the demon knife he's kept hidden, the deep cut spurting blood, smoking and hissing as the metal burns through the evil skin.

Satan screams in pain, dropping Bobby to the ground and holding his injured arm in surprise, gasping at the hunter "What have you done to me?"

Scrambling away, Bobby's hands are against his own throat, feeling for damage as he snarls back, "I had Castiel touch the knife before I jumped in here. A little angel present for you, you son of a bitch!"

"You dare to cut me with that rancid steel, put that putrid goodness into my flesh? I will take my time killing you."

And Satan starts to move forward towards Bobby and then stops in surprise, looking at Dean. He's frozen in place, talons extended, sharp teeth gritted together in a growl of rage, one foot in front of the other.

Sam rises up behind Dean, eyes shining with mad power, staring intensely at Lucifer, moving around Dean to tower over the evil One, his body shaking with the force he's pushing to hold the malevolence in limbo.

Waggling a finger in Satan's face, Sam taunts, "Now you know I'm not going to let you do that, don't you?"

Sam motions to the festering cut on Lucifer's arm, "You feel that working inside you? That's light and life sliding through that thing you call a heart. Remember that, angel? Do you remember when you were God's favored one, how the light was what you lived for? How's it feel now, asshole?"

Satan growls at Sam, teeth bared ferociously, almost spitting the words out, "I remember I was expected to bow down, humble myself before lesser beings like you and when I refused and stood by my beliefs, the beliefs that your God instilled in me at my creation, I was cast out, thrown away like rotting garbage, like I was nothing."

He struggles against Sam's hold on him, managing to break free long enough to move one leg forward.

Sam flexes his mind harder and pushes back, both figures quaking and gasping at the exertion, the mental battle of wills taking its toll on both of them.

Lucifer fights against Sam grimly, wearing him down, his power more constant than Sam's, "Now, I have the Healer's attention, don't I? I am no longer yesterday's trash but now am a worthy opponent, with more followers than He will ever have and that gives me strength, stamina to stay the distance. I will never be gone. I am necessary for the balance of the universe. If the King of King exists, then I must also exist. It is required."

Sam is pushed back by an invisible blow as the Dark Lord takes two steps forward.

"Dean! Now would be a good time to do your thing!" Sam calls back, panting in exertion, surging another sweep towards the Devil.

"And you'd have some idea of how I'm supposed to do that, Sam?"

Sam is whipped backwards without warning, smashed into the rocks behind Dean and when he sees Sam go down, his mind goes fierce and deadly and Dean turns, the grace overtaking him, enveloping him and his glows shines from him, a blinding light that touches Satan's eyes, causing him to howl in agony.

Dean throws out an arm and the evil One shields himself with both hands, trying to stop the untainted light, the pure clean radiance that surges towards him, burning him with the intensity, enveloping him with righteous power.

Satan's eyes go opaque, a film burning into them from the force of the shining light and he is blinded, screaming curses at Dean and God, shrieking hate at the Deliverer and all his goodness and begins to claw at his unseeing eyes with a wild ferocity, trying to see, trying to survive.

Dean is suddenly in front of him, plunging an angelic hand into Lucifer's chest, burning him with the holy essence he carries in his very being, making the evil entity writhe and jerk with suffering.

Satan claws back at Dean, slicing into him deeply, through his stomach and chest, grasping and pulling, trying to rip out his heart. Dean cries out in pain as his blood runs out from the slashes those talons are delivering, ripping his skin and his muscles, but he won't pull back, hand still buried inside the demonic skin.

He grabs the back of the Evil One's head, shoving his hand further into the fetid chest, grunting with effort, finding the putrid heart, feeling it thumping in his fist and he yanks, tearing it out, arteries and veins shredded, blood pouring over his hands and Satan throws back his head, mouth gaping with a scream that's cut off with a gurgle, voice bubbling with frothy blood as the lungs are flooded with blood and air is gone. Dean pulls his hand out and drops the heart, fist covered in gore.

He grips Lucifer's head with both hands, and with a triumphant scream, gives a sharp twist and a rip and the body drops away, a stump of a neck pumping out the rest of the body's blood and he's left gripping the Dark Master's head, face still twitching from errant nerves.

Dean screams out, "God, Your will is done!" and holds the head up high, blood dripping down onto him, onto the ground, and he stands tall, his glow pulsing out of him now, his trophy offered up to the heavens-

The very air itself seems to sigh with relief as Sam and Bobby crawl over to stand next to Dean, staring up with him into the skies of hell-

A gentle rain begins to fall on their upturned faces, so light at first it may have been imagination but then, pattering down onto the parched and dead earth, onto the gaping open mouths of screaming, tormented, thirsty demons, turning into a shower and then a torrent, washing away the stench, the dust, the blood.

The head in Dean's hands shimmers and disappears with the rain.

The three men stand shoulder to shoulder, the flood washing over them, washing them clean and they open their mouths, filling their scorched throats with heaven's essence, drinking deeply until they're filled up and the thirst, the never-ending thirst is gone and hope is restored.

Through the downpour, they can make out a glimmer of a staircase appearing in front of them, waxing and waning in the rain and Castiel walks down it, feet barely touching, almost floating over the steps. He motions for Dean, Sam and Bobby to come join him and they are suddenly on the stairs, standing next to him, looking out at a different hell, watching the damned souls drink, mouths wide open, crying out with joy at the cleansing rain.

Castiel's voice rings out to all, "The ladder will remain for those who want to be judged worthy to enter heaven. All souls are welcome to be tried and measured. Make your choice quickly as the ladder will disappear in due time."

With that, he turns to walk up and Dean follows without question, his glow fading now and he climbs, motioning to Sam and Bobby to come. Bobby looks over at Sam, muttering under his breath, "This is going to be one hell of a long walk…"

Sam gives a small smile and nods in agreement.

*

Castiel waves his hand and they're back in the street, back where they first jumped into the pit, staring at each other with shell-shocked eyes, looking around the world wonderingly, the roads and sidewalks still cracked and broken, the people laying dead in the street or screaming for mercy, fires still burning and smoke hanging heavy in the air.

Dean reaches out to Sam, putting a hand on his shoulder and looks at him and Bobby gratefully, "Thank you for-" and he trails off, shaking his head, giving it up.

There aren't words.

Sam gathers him up in his arms, hugging him tightly, scared to let him go, grateful, so grateful to have his brother back. When they pull apart, they look at Bobby, watching them with tear-filled eyes and he cuffs them both on the shoulders, nodding at them, unable to speak.

They've gone through too much, seen too much to waste time on words. Touching is what matters most now.

Sam sees Castiel over Bobby's shoulder and clears his throat, "Cas, will it ever be like it was before?"

Castiel's eyes wander over their faces as he nods, "Humans are resilient. They will regroup, rebuild and heal from this with time. They won't forget, but they will forgive. They must in order to survive. You will heal, too."

Sam, Bobby and Dean exchange hollow glances. They know they will never recover from what they've seen and what they've done. The most they can hope for is to someday be able to live with it and maybe one day, even forgive themselves.

Maybe that's all anyone can do.

*

**-the end-**

*

**A/N:** Latin Translation of incantation (sort of): Show the light, Show the soul that Blackest night cannot hold. As I speak it, show the son, the glory of the protected one.


End file.
